Old Friends
by Albus Paulson
Summary: Imagine a world where Dumbledore and Grindelwald never had the opportunity to interact. In this world, Albus Dumbledore made friends with a boy named John Abrams. Follow them during their lives as they face the world, for this is their story. ADJA
1. Chapter 1

Old Friends

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_Being very, very intelligent might create some problems and it has done for Dumbledore, because his wisdom has isolated him… where is his equal, where is his confidant, where is his partner? _

_**JKR in an interview**_

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Author's Note:

This my imaginings of a universe where Albus Dumbledore never bonded - in any sort of sense - with Gellert Grindelwald. Instead, his best friend was a similarly intelligent boy named John Abrams. This is their story.

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_**1 September 1891**_

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A whistle blew. "All aboard!" called the conductor. "All aboard the Hogwarts Express!"

Already in my compartment, I rolled my eyes and looked back to _Macbeth. _The noise of a half dozen or so latecomers pulling themselves onto the train roared, coughed and sputtered _– no, that's just the great engine. I had forgotten how noisy trains were – or are._

_**Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble…**_

_Some might think it's weird for someone as young as an eleven year old to like reading, and especially reading Shakespeare, but I like it. The teasing my peers give me isn't so bad, anyway._

The train jolted out of King's Cross Station. _Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…_

The compartment door creaked open. Slightly annoyed – I had just gotten into _Macbeth_, after all – I glanced up to see who was there.

"Sorry, sorry… I – I didn't realize this compartment was taken –"

The speaker was a boy, about my own age. He was taller than I by a few inches, though, and where my hair was brown, his was a beautiful reddish auburn. Sunlight glinted on bronze-rimmed half-moon glasses, and he wore Muggle clothing.

_Odd. I thought most people would be wearing Wizard robes._

The boy's bright blue eyes met my steely grey. He looked as if he fully expected me to tell him to go away.

I smiled at him. "It's all right. Come in."

His face shifted from worried to relieved in about half a second. He shoved his trunk into the rack and sat down opposite me.

I held out a hand. "I'm John Abrams."

He looked uncomfortable again. "Albus Dumbledore." He flushed and turned his head away from me.

I was confused.

_Did I do something wrong?_

"I'm sorry. Did I say something?"

This startled Albus into a laugh. "No, no. I just thought…" He mumbled something.

"Pardon?"

Albus took a deep breath. "I just thought that you might not want to be seen around me."

_I'm still confused._

"Why wouldn't I want to be seen around you?" I gave a rather drawn grin. "You seem nice enough."

He smiled wanly. "You're Muggle-born?"

"Yes." I warily nodded. "What has that got to do with anything?"

_My family is my family, whether or not I like them, or they like me._

"My family's been in the papers a lot lately. They're accusing my father of Muggle-baiting."

"I take it that's a bad thing?"

"It is, yes. The Dumbledores are sort of… infamous."

"And I care _why_, exactly?"

Albus raised his eyebrows. "Most people care about what their peers think of them."

"I'm not most people."

We sat in contented silence then. I had read into Act II of _Macbeth_ and Albus had tied and untied a bit of string many times over when the compartment door opened again.

A little old lady pushed a trolley full of candy. "Anything off the trolley, dear?" she asked, beaming sweetly at me. I pulled out a few silver Sickles – the only Wizarding money I had – and bought some Licorice Wands and Ice Mice.

Chewing happily on the anise-flavored stick, I watched as Albus stood and asked for a couple Pepper Imps. The old lady looked searchingly at Albus' face for a moment, and then her face warped from kindness into hatred. "I'll not sell to the child of Muggle-haters." She slammed the compartment door behind her, and left.

Albus collapsed on the soft bench. I swallowed hard.

_So this is the magical world. They profess to be better than Muggles, but I've yet to see it._

"Albus?"

He refused to look at me.

_He's probably crying._

"A-Are you going to leave me too? Dawson, Clement, Eugene, Leonard… They all called me names and left me alone – _hic! _– alone! They said they hated me! We left Mould-on-the-Wold, but it was no better in Godric's Hollow…"

_Oh dear. What on earth do I do for – or to – a severely unhappy person? I'm no good with my own emotions, much less so with others'._

He rambled on, seemingly oblivious to my presence, for a good ten minutes. Finally – after a glance at my pocket watch – I clapped my hands in front of his face. Startled, Albus stopped muttering – even if his eyes were suspiciously watery.

"Albus! Stop caterwauling!" I gave him my best glare.

He gave a feeble chuckle. "Wh- what, in Merlin's name, does caterwauling mean?"

"It means 'to make a loud howling noise,' which is what you're doing. Now, apart from what you told me earlier, I've got no clue as to why – as you say – everyone hates you."

Albus' eyes drooped. "Fine. I'll tell you."

I sat back in my seat and steepled my fingers together.

Albus began to tell his story. He told of his siblings, outgoing but dim Aberforth and sweet and naïve Ariana. He told of the boys who had hurt her, hurt her in body and in mind. He told of his father's horrible revenge – and of the Aurors who arrested him, dragging Percival Dumbledore from the scene screaming.

He wove a tale of love and pain, and destruction unleashed; love for and of his sister – pain that the boys had caused her, pain that his father had, in turn, caused them, pain that society had handed the family…

"You see, they _do_ hate me!"

I rolled my eyes exasperatedly. "No, they hate your family, and you only by association."

"There's a difference?" Albus looked almost hopeful.

_Yes. If they hated you, they'd never give you a chance to redeem yourself. As it is, you'll work harder, but you can still be considered Great someday._

"Of course."

He chuckled. "As if that's reassuring."

"Albus, some people are always going to dislike you. If you try to be friends with everybody, you'll end up friends with nobody."

Albus looked scandalized. "What can I do, if not try to be friends with everybody?"

"'This above all: to thine own self be true /And it must follow, as the night the day /Thou canst not then be false to any man.' It's from Shakespeare's _Hamlet_."

"What?"

"If you try to be someone that isn't yourself, all you will do is hurt others and yourself. If you are yourself – for yourself – then you can't treat anyone falsely – you've already showed them who you are."

"So… you're saying to just not care about what people think?"

"Yes, that's right."

Albus wrung his hands for a bit, first this way, and then that way. Then, a spark of life returned to his eyes. "How'd you get so wise?"

"What?" My eyes widened in shock, expecting a teasing remark – but finding only admiration. I suppressed a groan. "I'm not wise."

"Really? You just told me what I needed to hear. I've been feeling awful for the last month and a half – ever since Father was imprisoned in Azkaban – and you've got me out of my rut." He took a deep shuddering breath. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I answered automatically.

_**Later…**_

We were led to the great Gates of Hogwarts by a stunningly thin and grouchy old wizard. In the Entrance Hall, we – the first years – were handed over to a tall, red-haired professor.

"The first years, Professor Weasley," the old man sneered.

The professor bowed, and a broad smile unfolded on his face, seemingly undaunted by the other man's nasty demeanor. "Thank you, Mr. McIntyre."

McIntyre sneered again, and strode out of the hall, and into a side door.

Weasley turned to face the first years. "Welcome, welcome!" His navy blue hat nearly fell off his head. "Now, some of you may know all about the Houses, but others may not."

_Glad to know that I fall under the 'others.' I suppose because I was born a Muggle – I very much doubt that those with Wizarding parents would have any trouble with this._

"Nearly nine centuries ago, the four greatest witches and wizards of Britain came together. They are the Founders of Hogwarts – wise old Rowena Ravenclaw, who valued quick thinking and wisdom above all else; just and loyal Helga Hufflepuff, who was sweet and kind, and treated all students fairly; bold and brave Godric Gryffindor, who gave honor and courage the highest merit; and, last but not least, Salazar Slytherin, a man of great ambition and cunning, who loved those who were determined enough to see through any goal."

He waved us forward. "It's time! Come on now, we're ready for you!"

We filed into the Great Hall. Looking around, my eyes caught on the floating candles.

_It must be wonderful, to have all these abilities, and then to never realize that most people wouldn't even dream of floating candles._

I glanced upward by happenstance, and my eyes were glued to the ceiling for a moment or two. I could see every star.

_I don't think I've ever really seen the stars before – not that I've really tried._

Albus elbowed me firmly, bringing me back to this planet I like to call Earth.

Upon a stool in front of the Head Table, there was a hat – _looks like it was made out of dishrags. _Suddenly, a rip opened near the hat's brim, and it began to sing.

_Dear God. A singing hat!_

"O many years have come and gone;

"It's been too long since the great dawn

"Since the great Founders Four stood here,

"When Hogwarts did come to appear.

"But then the Founders Four became

"The Loyal Three; for to their shame

"Ambition proved too easily

"Corrupted into tyranny.

"Gryffindors are brave at heart,

"Ravenclaws make learning an art,

"Hufflepuffs are loyal and fair,

"And Slytherins have a wily flair.

"So you see, dear lads and lasses,

"No one House is for the masses.

"Each has merit, each has weakness;

"But as each of you comes to guess

"Wherein you might come to be placed,

"Fear not, for not all is a waste!

"You'll go where friends you just might make,

"And where your talents will awake.

"Don't be afraid of this old hat,

"Though I am the old Sorting Hat

"And shows you where and when to go,

"You are to be the one aglow!"

The audience – _older students, I assume – _clapped politely.

_How odd. The Sorting Hat sang, and in verse; I wonder if the verses mean anything?_

My thoughts were distracted when Professor Weasley took out a stool and a roll of parchment. He called out to the first years, "When I call, your name, come up to the front to be Sorted! First up, John Abrams!"

I pulled myself, with some trepidation, up the great steps. I sat on the little stool, and Weasley dropped the Hat on my head.

**Oh-ho, now, what have we here? A Muggle-born – good, that means you'll be free of the prejudices of Wizardkind…**

I remembered the trolley-lady on the train, refusing to sell to a little boy just because his father was – supposedly – a Muggle-hater.

_No joke._

**I see you also have a sense of humor – but you do so love to learn and read…**

_At least if your friends are books they won't betray you._

**Perhaps, perhaps… But you love fiercely and well, what- or who-ever you love.**

_Pardon?_

"**GRYFFINDOR!"**

_Oh._

I stood up, walked off, and nearly tripped on the steps, but I managed to get to the Gryffindor House table before my clumsiness killed me – all to the wonderful applause of the Gryffindors.

I was too dazed to pay much attention to anything other than my growling stomach, but when Weasley announced, "Dumbledore, Albus!" I looked up.

Whispers broke out in the Great Hall. Things such as "Blood-traitor," and "Muggle-hater," dripped venomously from the mouths of those around me.

I frowned.

_So much for having people love Albus for himself._

_Oh well. I can be his friend._

Thoughts of days spent in happiness, and someone to share them with, flittered through my mind.

_I hope. It would be nice – books are good, but someone to talk to is sometimes better._

I saw the Hat take moment after moment with Albus. At least twice it opened its mouth to say something, and closed it again. Finally, I noticed Albus relax a little in his seat, and the Hat yelled, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Gryffindor cheered halfheartedly for its newest member, but I moved over to make room for Albus on the bench.

_He kept me company on the train. Most people would have teased me during all that time, trying to hurt me in some way. Albus didn't; he deserves any friendship I can offer him._

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_**14 December 1895**_

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"John? John, wake up!"

Still mostly asleep, I felt someone shake me. "Huh?" I sat up, rubbed at my eyes with one hand, and fumbled for my glasses with the other. Shoving them onto my face, the excited form of Albus Dumbledore swam into focus.

"Albus, what on earth are you wearing?"

_Wow. Those robes are really quite beautiful. He must have gone to a lot of work to find them – or even more to make them himself._

His robes were a shade of dark purple, and were embroidered with millions of tiny stars. Over his robes he wore a long black cloak, fastened at the neck, and a long, silvery wool scarf.

He assumed a pouting look. "What, you don't like it?"

I shook my head, stifling a yawn with one hand. "No, no, I like it. Did you make the robes yourself?"

"Yes, I did. I found an embroidering charm in the school library – and it's a good thing I did, too. All this needlework would have taken a very, very long time to finish."

"You can say that again." I yawned again. "Why, exactly, did you wake me up?"

"Oh, right." Albus looked a little abashed. "It's a Hogsmeade weekend, remember? We need to get our Christmas shopping done."

I pulled myself from my wonderfully warm flannel bedding with a rueful expression.

"Oh, come now, John. Let's get a move on."

You_ get a move on. _I_ want to crawl back under my quilt and sleep until noon. I might love the cold and snow, but not when I'm in my nightclothes._

Albus must have recognized that I was feeling sluggish, because the next thing I knew he was digging through my trunk for some day robes for me. "Thanks, Albus." I ran a hand through my hair. "What would I do without you?"

"A lot more work," he replied easily. "Ah, here we are!"

A bundle of clothes flew my way. I caught them – just barely – by sheer instinct. I shook them out, revealing –

"Albus, did you make these for me?"

The robes looked similar to the handmade ones Albus was wearing, but instead of being colored a deep shade of purple, they were a beautiful burgundy, and instead of being embroidered with silver stars, light danced on bronze figures of runes.

He grinned. "Again, yes, I did. I thought you would like them."

"_Like_ is too plebian a word," I breathed, watching, in fascination, the numerous ways the light caught on the robe's stitching.

_Elphias and the other boys in our dorm wouldn't be caught dead wearing something like this._

_I like it, though, and Albus made it for me. Why would I not wear it? I'll look odd – but I'm odd anyway. What do I care? _

Albus chuckled. "Are you going to watch the way they seem to change in the light all day, or are you going to put them on?"

I pulled on the robes without another thought.

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_**15 March 1896**_

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The Great Hall was loud and crowded during Sunday luncheon.

_The house-elves have outdone themselves, as always._

I sat next to Albus, chewing contemplatively on a bite of roast beef. All around me, people were eating and talking, sharing a joke with their friends, or even just groaning about homework they had left to the last minute.

Or, as my dorm mates were, talking about the various women they were attracted to.

"I like the looks of Gladys Macpherson, myself," said Henry Raterman, through a bite of toad-in-the-hole.

"Macpherson?" Edward Smith chortled. "She's not got much in the brains department."

"I know – that's why I said she was pretty." Henry poked his fork at Edward. "Notice that I didn't say she was smart."

The male end of the Gryffindor table burst into laughter. I noticed that Albus wasn't laughing, which reassured me somewhat.

_I don't see what's funny. It seems pretty mean to me – not to mention rude._

"You're awfully quiet today, John," Albus elbowed me gently. "Got something on your mind?"

I swallowed. "Not really. I've just got nothing to say." I moved on to the carrots.

_Mmm. Delicious._

"That can't be!" Elphias Doge said. "You've got to have your eye on someone, John."

"Why is it any business of yours?"

Edward made a face. "Half the girls here have crushes on you, and the other half on Albus. It's making it quite hard to get – and keep – a date to Hogsmeade."

"What!" Albus and I exclaimed as one.

"Tell me you're kidding." I glared at Edward.

He grinned, and shook his head obstinately. "I'm not. They think you two are far nicer than any of us ordinary blokes."

"The fact that you two top pretty much every class is just another point to you," Henry said.

"All right, that I can't argue with," Albus said, "but why would they think we're any nicer than any of you?"

"Maybe because you don't look at them as if you're trying to find out what's under their robes," Edward said, "and you will go out of your way to help anyone, if they need it. They know that."

At our disbelieving looks, Henry added, "Remember when Victoria Moody needed help with her Runes assignment, a couple weeks ago?"

I nodded, remembering the homely girl.

_She isn't all that good with mathematics, but better than she thinks she is. She just needed a bit of a confidence boost._

Henry continued. "She'd already come to Edward and I for help, and we said we were busy."

"Which we were," Edward put in, "but we were, perhaps, a little rude about telling her to leave us alone."

"But she came to you, and even though you were both occupied with your Charms essays, you helped her. In thirty minutes you had assisted her with her homework, and showed her how to do it the next time."

"I just treated her as I would have liked to be treated," I protested. "It wasn't any special kindness on my part."

"It was to her," Elphias said. "Not very many people are nice to her, you know. The fact that you two were kind to her, of all people, gave her a tremendous boost in self-worth."

We stared at Elphias as if he had grown a second head.

_Where on earth did that come from? I'm used to thinking of Elphias as slightly stupid – which, to be fair, he is – but he just showed a remarkable level of wisdom._

"The point is," Henry said, "that if I hear another girl comment on how good she thinks either of you would look in a towel, I think I shall be sick."

Albus and I both blushed – just as surely as if it had been choreographed – to thunderous guffaws.

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_**4 September 1896**_

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I walked among the heather on the eastern side of Hogwarts Castle, near the lake. The invigorating nature of the quiet helped me to stay calm as I thought.

For I, who loved the stillness of the wild places, had come to this path for a reason.

_Who I am should not have anything to do with what others say I am – and yet, if I am right about one aspect of my personality, I could be in major trouble with the Magical and Muggle worlds._

I thought back to the conversation which had started this chain of thought.

_If conversation is a proper term for it at all. Barely restrained riot might be more appropriate…_

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_**Flashback**_

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I sat on a bench at the park, reading Homer's _Iliad_.

A group of boys – a few years older than I, but not yet men – approached on the path.

"Good one, Danny!"

"Yeah, good one, Danny! How much money did you get off him?"

"Squealed like a stuck piglet, 'e did…"

"Per'aps, per'aps, me friends… Aye, tha's the ticket! Off the pub we go – first round's on me!"

"Hooray!"

I saw them come, but did not move. _They aren't going to bother me,_ I thought, _they've no reason to._

I had forgotten, apparently, that bullies need no incentive to bully.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" the lead boy said. He was unkempt and dirty, but what sent a chill down my spine was the malevolent grin on his unshaven face.

_This isn't going to end well._

"One little boy, out here, all alone." He turned to his comrades. "What say you, boys, shall we have some fun?"

"Why not, Danny?"

"I'd put a thirst for ale in me."

"Ach, the tavern can wait."

"Good to hear," Danny turned back to me. He laughed mercilessly, and reached for me. When his hand grabbed my arm, in order to pull me from the bench, however…

_Shock-fear-anger-pain-dishonor-heat-fire-shock-fear-anger-pain…_

_Pain!_

"Yeow!" Danny abruptly let go, and leapt backward, nearly bowling over one of his fellows.

"What's wrong, boss?"

"Yeah – this dog didn' even touch you."

"No," he panted, his blood-crazed brown eyes boring into my grey. "No, he didn't touch me." He looked me up and down, with the air of someone looking over a slab of meat.

A chill encased my heart.

_Sweet bloody Merlin on a polka-dotted magic carpet – he _can't_ be thinking what I think he's thinking of…_

His gaze took in my royal purple shirt and shoulder length hair, and the beginnings of a beard on my face. His eyes flicked over my silver-rimmed glasses, and the golden amulet I'd made with Albus' help swinging on a chain around my neck.

"You don't seem quite the sort to dress up for the ladies," Danny said. His voice was so smooth, it was almost oily. "And there's no point in dressing up for your books." He pointed at my copy of the _Iliad, _which still lay still on the bench beside me. "Care for a drink with me?"

Something in his eyes told me that what he wanted was much more than just my company in the tavern.

_I'm not even willing to give him that. Only Albus can ask for my company, and expect me to come with him…_

My mind seemed to want to explore that further – but I quashed it like an unwanted bug.

_Bad, bad John. Think of what Albus would say._

I tried to keep my voice nonchalant as I stood. "It seems that you would like more than just my company, dear man."

Danny leered at me. "What of my companions, then? Do any of them strike your fancy?"

Two of the boys looked revolted, and glared halfheartedly at Danny's back.

_Good. I don't like _you_ either._

The third, however, was even dirtier than Danny, and was missing two of his front teeth – and he had an expression on his face that unsettled me.

_Is he… No, he can't be… _

"I am unsure of what you mean."

_Or, rather, desperately hoping I'm wrong._

"I mean," Danny stepped forward so that his nose was about an inch from mine, "that you don't seem the type of fellow to enjoy the company of a girl."

I tried to grin, I really did. It ended up more looking that I had to visit the loo. "Right, right."

His breath was foul – and his body odor was even worse. "Come with us. You'll find what a real man is like."

Anger clouded my mind. "If I wanted a real man," I spat, "I'm certain I could find one."

Rage danced, barely restrained, in Danny's eyes. "You would refuse us?"

"Hell yes," I growled. "Get away from me."

Danny backed up, but laughed mirthlessly. "It's four on one, little man," he hissed. "How would you get away, if we wanted to have you?"

_Anger-rage-fire-smoke-screams-fury-flames-inferno-destruction-anger…_

_Rage!_

I could feel my wand, hidden in a wrist holster in my sleeve.

_Are you a wizard or not? _Albus' voice asked me in my mind. _Will you defend yourself and your honor?_

I stood erect. "If you want me," I ground out from between clenched teeth, "Come and claim me, bastards!"

Danny took that as an invitation to attack. The first punch he threw missed. The second hit a glowing, icy-blue shield – a shield that I hadn't needed my wand to cast.

"What the –"

"Bloody –"

"Demon!"

_Well, he's close. No cigar for him, though._

Danny seemed to have frozen. I let the wandless shield dissipate, and I turned a steely gaze into his fearful brown eyes.

"Shoo!"

They ran, tripping over themselves in their haste.

I sat back on the bench, nearly squashing Homer's _Iliad. _

_And now I've got a lot to think about._

_He was right about a few things – I'm not the sort to dress up in order to impress the ladies._

_For Albus, on the other hand…_

I made sure that train of thought didn't leave the station.

_Elphias and most of his friends wouldn't be caught dead in some of the things Albus and I wear on a regular basis. I thought it was just because I was odd, but…_

_Maybe…_

_Maybe I'm just not attracted to girls._

That was a very scary thought.

_Wizards don't seem to treat those they view as different very well. Look at poor Edmund Fenwick – got bit by a werewolf and was expelled from Hogwarts._

I shuddered at the thought.

_The magical world is everything to me. Dear old Father condemned magic all his life, whether he was in the pulpit or not. It's a good thing the pox got him before I got my Hogwarts letter. Mother – she's a prim and proper housewife, and I doubt her son turning up with his – male – fiancé would enthrall her._

_If I wasn't allowed to be at Hogwarts…_

_I'd never see Albus again._

That thought disturbed me more than I would ever care to admit.

_He's my brother, _I told my irrepressible side. _He's the sibling I never had – the one I will turn to when I need comfort, when I just want to talk, and when I need help up after I've fallen._

My irrepressible side wasn't sure what to make of it.

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_**End Flashback**_

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_I still don't know what to make of it._

I sighed and kicked at a rock.

_Albus would know what to do. Albus almost always knows what to do. But I don't know that I have the courage to tell him about this part of me._

_**Nonsense,**_ said a part of me that sounded suspiciously like Albus. _**He's your friend, your confidant, your partner. If you can't tell him about this, who can you tell? Mother?**_

I snorted aloud, startling a bird into flight.

_Mother is a coward who can't think for herself. She might be my mother, but I've gotten more mothering from Albus than from her – and that's a rather pathetic thought. Not that I dislike Albus' affections, but a mother is supposed to express her love for her child. My mother is incapable of even giving me a hug. _

_Albus, for all his insecurities and faults, is the greatest person I know. If he cannot accept me, who can?_

"Mrrow?"

I looked down to see an orange tabby cat at my feet. "Elaine, what are you doing out here?" I scolded her.

"Mrrow?" My cat rubbed herself imploringly up against my robes.

I sighed. "Oh, all right." I picked her up. "Let's get back to the castle, silly kitty, before McIntyre catches us."

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_**6 September 1896**_

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I hummed to myself as I unpacked all of my books from my trunk into a bookcase I'd persuaded the house-elves to install back in third year.

_When you have as many books as I do, you have to have a place to keep them – that's my logic, anyway…_

_Albus always says that, left to my own devices, I'd read through the whole library of Alexandria, and then complain of missing the adventure when it was all said and done. I must say, he's probably right._

"Knut for your thoughts?"

I turned slightly. Albus stood behind me, smiling oddly.

_Albus doesn't smirk like that… something's up._

I brushed off my thoughts. "Library of Alexandria," I said shortly.

"Ah," Albus chuckled, and then lost the peculiar grin. He glanced at the pile of my books that still needed shelving. "Want some help?"

"Why not?"

He picked up a few volumes and placed them lovingly on the shelves.

_He treats my books better than I do, most of the time. I might love my books, but the daily wear and tear of life with me is a bit much for some books._

I shelve my copy of Virgil's _Aeneid_, its cover having been bound so many times in Spellotape that I can't read the titles anymore.

_Point in question._

Lifting my copy of _Macbeth, _I remember a time so long ago when all was simple – _stay out of people's way, don't make the teachers too mad or too happy, and that sort of thing. A relic of an earlier time. Merlin, I can hardly remember first year – but I can remember my first ride on the Hogwarts Express._

The sound of two hands clapping together startled me out of my reverie. My eyes snapped back into focus, and they glared at the wide grin of Albus Dumbledore. "Going to shelve that book anytime soon?"

I looked down to see that, indeed, _Macbeth_ was still the only book I'm holding. "Point," I ceded to Albus, as I put _Macbeth_ on the shelf beside me.

He laughed. "I always have a point."

"Yes, but they're not always good ones. Remember when we got the house-elves to give us Firewhiskey last year?"

Albus groaned. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

It was my turn to grin. "No. You sing pretty well when you're drunk, old friend. I can't say the same for your verse, however." I laughed. _"Ten blue bowtruckles on the banisters, and then one tried to dance…"_

He shoved my shoulder playfully. "I was drunk! I must have been hallucinating."

"I drank just as much as you, if you remember – and I didn't start singing about blue bowtruckles."

"No, you just giggled at the slightest thing. It got pretty annoying after a while."

"I could say the same for your drunken poetry!"

Elphias "Dogbreath" Doge walked in, carrying a bundle of what looked like his laundry. He looked between us, "Am I interrupting something, John – Albus?"

"No, no, Elphias. I'm just trying to get these," I gestured to my pile of books, "shelved before the first day of classes."

The short, squat boy laughed. "You and your books, John. If it weren't for Albus, you'd probably spend all your time holed up in the library – like the Ravenclaws." He made a face. "I can't stand it, myself. I prefer watching Quidditch."

"You would," Albus said smoothly, brushing at his light green robed absently. "But each of us is different."

_You can say that again._

I drifted off into thought.

_Would Henry and the others accept my… differences?_

_**You're forgetting the most important one, **_said a voice that sounded a lot like Albus' warm tenor. _**If you can't trust that Albus would accept you, then you can't trust anyone to accept you. That's no way to live.**_

_No, it's not, but I…_

_I'm a coward – a _sniveling_ coward – when in comes to things like this. I don't know if I can trust myself to not screw up if – or when – I confess all._

"John?"

I was pulled out of my reverie – again – by the grinning face of Albus Dumbledore.

"You have got to stop doing that," Albus' eyes twinkled merrily, "or I'll start thinking something's the matter with you. Do you really want to go see Sister Claire in the Hospital Wing?"

I winced. "No. I swear – that woman has got it in for me."

He chuckled. "You're probably right. She seems to like me, though."

"That's because you have the right bedside manner, or some such thing. I, apparently, have been labeled a 'bad patient.'"

"You did explode a couple cauldrons with Professor Weasley. One of them landed ten people in the Hospital Wing for a week –"

"One of those ten people was me!"

"- and I think she has remembered that."

I snorted. "Who wouldn't?"

I pushed _the Prince _into place, my thoughts on my memory.

_Was Danny right? Do I simply not feel desire for anyone – and my liking for feminine things is just an aberration? Or do I have desire for those persons of my own gender – no matter that a man loving other men is relatively rare?_

I ran a hand through my beard and over my face in exasperation.

_I don't think I'm certain of anything anymore._

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Albus check that no one was coming up the stairs. I watch him as he seems to draw himself together.

Albus sighed, and said, "John?"

_He sounds… unsure? I never thought I'd see the day when Albus was unsure of anything – other than his own self-worth, of course._

_He's a lot like me in that way, as well as others._

My interest piqued. "Yes, Albus?" I turned to face him.

He wrung his hands, first this way, and then that way. "You've noticed… that I wear things that Elphias wouldn't be seen in?"

I nodded slowly. "You and I both do, Albus."

"You've seen that I don't… look at girls…"

"…as if you were undressing them, the way that Edward does? Yes, I've noticed. Nor do I, for that matter." I scowled. "I always thought it was quite rude of him."

_Is he… no, he couldn't be… Albus?_

"I'm making a mess of this." Albus shook his head like a dog trying to rid its fur of water. "I'm attracted to boys, John."

I gaped at him in shock, and then sat down on my bed. I put my face in my hands.

"John?"

_That's an opening I can't ignore. Might as well say it…_

"Me too, Albus."

Suddenly we were laughing, crying and laughing, at ourselves and at each other.

Albus wiped tears from his face, eyes twinkling with merriment like twin suns. "I wasn't sure how you'd react, and here you are, thinking the same thing!"

I gave a watery chuckle. "I wasn't even sure I had the courage to say it to a mirror, much less to a living being."

"You could have told Elaine."

At the mention of her name, my orange tabby cat jumped onto my bed and nuzzled my hand, purring. I scratched at her head absently. "Yes, I could have; It would have been just as hard as telling my reflection, though."

"Perhaps, perhaps."

We sat in contented silence for a while, I happy to keep petting my cat and Albus at ease with staring out the tower window.

"How does the Wizarding World react to… you know." I asked. Elaine jumped off the bed and ran out the door – _Probably off to find a mouse; good for her._

Albus tapped his chin, thinking. "As far as I know, not well, but slightly better than in the Muggle World. There, it's illegal to be caught in the act, so to speak. Here, we're not allowed to marry, but are otherwise just citizens like everyone else; but as long as we mind our own business and keep our noses clean, nobody really cares."

"That's a relief. So, we can't be expelled from Hogwarts or anything for being who and what we are?"

"That's right; it might be hard getting a job, though, if your employer knows."

"Oh dear."

Silence reigned again for an uncomfortable moment. Albus broke it, saying, "How did you realize… you know?"

"An odd conversation with a man who tried to get me in bed with him. I thought and thought and thought and… I fell upon the answer."

He laughed. "Calling it an odd conversation must be an understatement."

"It is. What about you?"

"A strange comment from my mother. She wanted to know why my clothes were so… feminine. And, again, I thought until the solution was clear to me." Albus looked at the piles of books left to be shelved. "Shall we?"

"Oh, why not?"

-------------------------------

_**7 June 1897**_

-------------------------------

I sat on a bench in one of Hogwarts' outer courtyards, simultaneously basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun and studying for end-of-year exams. I chewed absently on the feathery end of my quill, and gagged when I realized it.

_Yuck._

My eyes scanned over the dry pages of an ancient-looking book on Charms I'd found in the library.

_Flame-Freezing Charm… Flammafrigido. I can remember that._

"Knut for your thoughts?" said an amused voice behind me.

I didn't look up. "Not worth it, Henry."

"I very much doubt that." The stocky boy reclined against a pillar, humor sparkling in his intelligent brown eyes. "You heard me coming up behind you," he stated.

"I did," I said, scribbling notes onto a spare roll of parchment, "Sort of, anyway."

"You didn't used to do that – be able to hear anyone coming up behind you, I mean."

"No, I didn't."

"I still remember the time you put so many jinxes on Edward that I thought he'd contracted dragon pox. That was quite funny."

I rolled my eyes. "Then, I didn't have a supersensory charm set up. For all I knew, he was an enemy that had come up behind me in order to harm me."

Henry tapped his chin. "That sounds like an excellent idea. How do you set it up?"

I stood, pushing my book and papers to the bench beside me. "_Amdanum_ is the incantation…"

Someone's shoes scuffed the ground a few meters behind me. I whirled around, wand in hand – and immediately lowered it. "Professor Gabriel."

His lips twitched behind his bushy, white walrus moustache. "Mr Abrams," he smiled, "do you happen to know where I could find Mr Dumbledore?"

I looked past the professor. "Right behind you, sir."

Gabriel twisted around. "Ah, Mr Dumbledore, just the one I wanted to see."

Albus strode into the courtyard, carrying a number of books that would have been incredibly heavy – had Albus not cast a weightlessness charm on them, as it seemed he had. "You wished to see me, sir? Pardon me for asking, but – why?"

The professor chuckled. "I've always wanted to know what you would do in a high-pressure situation, Mr Dumbledore, and now I have the chance. The Headmaster has asked that I examine the best of my students for a talent in dueling. The English National Team is in such desperate need of a few good duelists, you know."

Albus nodded. "You would like to… examine me?"

"Duel you myself, actually."

His eyes lit up. "I'd be honored, sir." Albus' eyes jumped to mine. "May John watch us duel, Professor?"

_How did he know… No, I ought to know by now that Albus knows what I want before I do._

"Of course. Come with me, then, Mr Dumbledore, Mr Abrams."

_**Later…**_

I sat in a chair in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the grate and its flames. I'm certain I made for an eerie sight – firelight dancing on the panes of my glasses, reflecting off all the little alchemical symbols embroidered into my indigo robes, the shadows obscuring my hands and my eyes.

_But I am no great master. All I ask for is a little room to be who I am meant to be, and I believe that Fate shall take care of the rest herself. It is what she does best, after all – reflecting the actions of the bad onto themselves, and the deeds of the good onto the community._

"Knut for your thoughts?" Albus sunk himself gracefully into the chair beside me.

I shook my head. "Not worth it."

"Oh, I think it is." I could see, even with the fire making lightshows on his glasses, that Albus' eyes were twinkling.

_What has he got up his sleeves? I know that I have nothing._

"Oh?"

"You beat the Defense against the Dark Arts Professor in a duel. Either you're off in your castles in the air, or you've gone into a self-depreciating slump. Whichever it is, stop it."

I rubbed at my brow with a tired hand. "You know me too well."

"And you know me better than I know myself. It goes both ways." Albus smiled wanly. "Anyway, you dueled very well. The badminton shuttles were a nice touch – distracting him long enough to get through his defenses."

"I can't help but think I cheated. He's not a young man, after all, and I tipped him head over heels with an overpowered _Wingardium Leviosa_. That has got to hurt."

"He opened himself up to it. He willingly dueled you, after soundly defeating me."

"It wasn't that bad, Albus. I thought you did pretty well, all things considering."

"If I did well, you did better." I opened my mouth to make a rebuttal, but Albus shushed me. "Remember that I know you too well, hmm? Trust my judgment?"

I sighed. "My brain does. My heart… not so much. Or maybe it's the other way around – I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"Things might not be certain in life, but we just have to make the best of it," Albus winked, "and you're making some good choices."

"It's good to know you think so, Albus."

He rose from his chair. "I'm heading to bed. We have Transfiguration first thing tomorrow morning, remember."

"I'll come up in a bit."

"All right."

I heard Albus' footsteps retreat up the tower steps, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

_Who am I? What am I? Things we each have to answer for ourselves._

_The Who I have. The What I learn more of every day._

I sighed.

_I suppose learning what we are is a part of wisdom and maturity. I just wish it wasn't so painful._

-------------------------------

_**1 September 1897**_

-------------------------------

I lay in my bed, staring at the plush ceiling of my four-poster. I could hear Elphias Doge's snoring in the bed nearest to the door, Edward Smith bed next to that one, and Henry Raterman in the bed to my right. In between my bed and Smith's, however, was Albus Dumbledore's.

_What a terrible thing it is to lay awake, when all those around you have slipped into the arms of Morpheus. God of dreams and sleep – something I'd love to have visited unto me right now._

I shifted, moving my body and head so that I could look at the sleeping form of the one that tempted my dreams. Through his hangings, I could see Albus Dumbledore lying on his back, snoring softly. For a brief instant, I thought I saw the man he could become – his beautiful auburn hair worn long, his beard wagging with every movement of his head, power unleashed in his anger against an evil foe, kindness twinkling in every laugh, and love in every glance of his eyes, blue as the sunny sky.

_Albus…_

_Who would have thought? Even I believed I cared for Albus as a brother, until we parted for the summer…_

-------------------------------

_**Flashback**_

-------------------------------

"Write me, alright, John? No dead silence of your end, like last year – I thought something bad had happened to you!"

I chuckled. "Albus, I sent you a letter every week."

"I _like_ reading your letters – keeps me from being too bored in Godric's Hollow."

I clapped him on the shoulder, feeling the soft wool of his cloak under my fingers. "Take care, old friend." I let humor spark in my grey eyes. "Don't let Abe get to you."

Albus laughed, and pulled me into a hug.

_Love-friendship-brotherhood-companionship-affection-caring-desire…_

_Desire!_

Albus let go of me, leaving me in a daze on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

_What on earth just happened?_

-------------------------------

_**End Flashback**_

-------------------------------

_I'm still confused. I still don't know why I felt the things I did. Albus is my brother, isn't he? Nothing more, and certainly nothing less…_

A glance at Albus' bed stopped that train of thought.

_Oh dear. How much worse could this be?_

_I'm falling in love with my best friend._

_Where do I go from here? I've never felt this sort of thing before – do I confess all to him, or do I wait it out, and see if he returns my feelings?_

**Confess, **spoke my feelings. **He may feel the same way. Better to get it all over with.**

What if he doesn't? retorted the more logical side of me. What if he leaves you, abandons you?

_Abandons me?_

A vision of myself, alone, surrounded by books and loose papers, came to me. My dream-self seemed to have been weeping, and every few moments I watched myself roughly mop at my eyes.

_Where is Albus? _I asked my dream-self. _Where is my friend, my confidant?_

_My partner?_

The image warped and twisted in on itself. It showed an older Albus dancing rather closely with a tall, merry-faced man, his long, curly blond hair falling into his eyes…

_No, no, NO!_

I pulled myself back to my dorm room, back to the real world.

_All right, all right. It's nearing midnight. I'm seventeen years old. My best friend is asleep in the bed beside me. Elphias Doge needs the silencing ward reapplied on his bed so that the rest of us can sleep through his snoring._

Calmed by the dry recitation of what is and is not, I let my mind return to the task at hand.

_Maybe – just maybe – I'm in love._

_I still don't know what to do about it, if anything._

**Tell him, **urged my feelings. **He is your friend – he will not reject you.**

_I… I can't. I don't think I'm brave enough to stand before him and say "I love you."_

**Coward. He loves you – all he needs is a little encouragement.**

_All _I_ need is a little hope. For all I know, he's already enamored of someone else._

Unbidden, the image of the merry-faced man came before my eyes. He laughed silently in front of me, his pale green eyes winking at some inner joke…

_No, no, NO!_

**See?**

_See what?_

**You're envious of **_**that**_** vision because Albus may yet be in love with someone who isn't you.**

_That doesn't make me feel any better._

**Think of it this way: If he loves you, and you don't tell him about your feelings for him, the love will die, and Albus will turn to someone else. If he doesn't love you, and you still tell him of your feelings, all there is between you is some embarrassment – embarrassment can't stand up to the affection you'd still have for one another.**

My eyes focused on the dark red hangings of my four-poster bed. I twiddled my thumbs absently as I thought through my possibilities.

_If Albus has feelings for me, and I don't tell him that I feel the same, he'll think that I don't like him in that way. _

_If Albus has feelings for me, and I tell him that I feel the same, we'll try out a romantic relationship. _

_If Albus doesn't have feelings for me, and I tell him that I like him romantically, we'll both be quite embarrassed, but it won't hurt our friendship in the long run._

_If Albus doesn't have feelings for me, and I don't tell him that I like him romantically, we'll have no reason to be embarrassed._

I rolled over so that I was no longer facing the object of my affections. Thinking through my options hadn't shown me a clear path of what to do.

I sighed. I could reflect on this more in the morning.

-------------------------------

_**4 September 1897**_

-------------------------------

The Hogwarts library was quiet. Being a Saturday, most people were relaxing, or playing games – not doing their homework.

_I'm not most people._

"John?"

I looked up from my Transfiguration homework. "Yes, Henry?"

Henry looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Has something come between you and Albus? You two are dancing circles around each other."

I fought to keep my face blank. "No, not as far as I am aware."

"Really?" Henry sat down in the chair opposite me.

"Why would you think otherwise?"

_Is Albus interested?_

Henry's brown eyes sparkled. "If nothing is going on between you, then why do you keep looking at him? And why does he keep looking at you? Of course, you manage to look at each other without the other knowing he is looking…" Henry shook his head. "I just confused myself."

"No, no. You got your point across." I glanced over at Albus, where he sat deep in conversation with a seventh year Ravenclaw girl. I only caught a few words of the conversation, but as they were "Weasley," "cauldron," and "dungeon," I would bet a pretty Galleon that they were discussing NEWT Potions.

Henry brushed his dark brown hair out of his face. "If I am not greatly mistaken, John, I think that you and Albus are completely in love with each other."

_Love-friendship-brotherhood-companionship-affection-caring-love…_

I fought to keep my emotions from my demeanor. "What makes you say that?"

Henry chortled. "First, it's obvious to everyone with a brain that you're… shall we say, not any competition for girls. Most of those people don't really care, either. Second, you've been a little obsessive over what the other thinks of each of you since the end of fourth year.

"Third, I saw that hug he gave you at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on Leavetaking Day last year, John. He was giving you the most adoring of expressions that no one could mistake it for anything but love. Whether that love was romantic or brotherly, I didn't know, until you two confirmed it for me."

"I don't understand, Henry."

"Every time you laugh, John, Albus gives you an affectionate smile. On every occasion you frown, Albus tries to see what's causing it. Every moment, you know exactly where Albus is, because you care for him so deeply that you want to know where he is, always – you want to know that he's safe."

I massaged my forehead in an attempt to ward off the coming headache. "And here I thought I was being discreet."

Henry smiled. "You were, actually. Most people here don't have a brain to work with. I think it's rather sweet, the way you look at each other."

"It's nice to know you think so, Henry." I looked back at my homework and scowled. "Do you have any idea what determines how long an inanimate conjuration lasts?"

Henry ran a hand though his hair, and then said, "Not even an inkling, I'm afraid."

"It depends on the skill of the conjurer, and on the size of the conjuration," said a familiar voice behind me. "It's the same as in Transfiguration – Professor Whelan went over it last week."

I wheeled around in my chair to see Albus' smirking face above me. "Albus! Don't _do_ that!"

"Do what? Sneak up on you?" His eyes shone like twin suns. "You must have been absorbed in your work, and have forgotten to put up your supersensory charm, because I certainly wasn't trying to be quiet."

"Sister Angelica threw a fit the last time I did magic in here, and threatened to ban me if I ever did it again." I turned to Henry. "How long has he been standing there?"

Henry drummed his fingers on the table. "Since you asked about the Transfiguration."

"Wonderful," I said sarcastically, and turned back to Albus, dropping the cynical attitude. "Thanks."

He watched me scribble on my roll of parchment. "You're welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe Meghan Olson needs some pointers."

He walked away, and I found myself missing his presence almost immediately.

"I take it back," Henry's voice broke my reverie. "If you keep staring after him like that, it'll be obvious to everyone with only _half_ a brain that you like him."

I scowled and went back to attempting to write my essay, barely noticing when Henry stood up and left, presumably for Edward and Elphias' company.

_Good for him. And good for me, too – maybe now I can get this essay written. _

However, I found it nearly impossible to focus on my essay when thoughts of Albus, broom cupboards, and several things unmentionable to my mother kept intruding on my concentration.

Two hours and three rewrites later, I had gotten no further on my Transfiguration.

_Transfiguration… Albus is good at Transfiguration… Albus is probably done with his homework by now…_

I threw down my quill and huffed.

_This needs settling. Will I have the courage to confess all, though?_

-------------------------------

_**6 September 1897**_

-------------------------------

"Now, today I have a treat planned for us." Professor Gabriel said, tugging at his white, bushy walrus moustache. "It is the first Defense against the Dark Arts class of this year, after all."

The NEWT Defense against the Dark Arts class perked up.

_I wasn't expecting this. He always lectured the first half of the year, and then we moved on the practical things after Christmas…_

Gabriel smiled and moved to the head of the classroom. He said, "I know, I know. I'm supposed to lecture, and then ask you to apply your knowledge." His face hardened for a moment. "Not in NEWT level. Here, I expect you to have learned the theory already. Now, we're moving on to a higher level of application."

Albus and I exchanged a glance.

_What could he have us work on?_

"Who can tell me what a Patronus is?"

Albus and I raised our hands, as did a sizable number of the Ravenclaws and a handful of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins.

"Mr Dumbledore?"

"A Patronus is a magical incarnation of the caster's innermost positive feelings," Albus said. "It is invoked against Dementors and Lethifolds, using the incantation _Expecto Patronum_."

"Very good! Five points to Gryffindor! The Patronus Charm is extremely advanced magic, so don't be discouraged if you can't get a fully corporeal Patronus on your first, second, or even third try."

Gabriel's eyes roved over the students. "You will need a memory – a very happy memory – to make the incantation work." He clapped his hands together. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get started!"

No one needed a second invitation. We rose out of our desks and moved into the practicing area, each of us trying to bring a happy memory to mind.

_What memory should I use?_

Thoughts of the day I received my Hogwarts letter filled my psyche.

_All right. I can try that one._

"_Expecto Patronum_!" Lots of silver mist emerged from my wand, but no corporeal form. Even though Professor Gabriel had said it was hard, I wasn't expecting the Patronus Charm to bee too difficult for me. I frowned.

_What about the day I_ _met Albus? If that wasn't happy, what is?_

I focused harder on the memory this time. "_Expecto Patronum_!" More mist exploded from the tip of my wand. I could see, vaguely, the mist trying to coalesce into a form, but to no avail. I released the magic, and it vanished.

_Maybe that memory's just not good enough…_

I chewed at my lip. I didn't have a large number of happy memories. Nearly all of my childhood memories with my father involved him yelling at me for something I had done, and my mother was never the sort to give me much affection – be it verbal approval or even a hug, now and again…

_What about that hug Albus gave me at the end of last year?_

I thought of ice and glaciers, fighting to keep a blush from my cheeks.

_Why not? What have I got to lose by trying?_

I thought back to that day, reliving my feelings when Albus embraced me.

_**Love-friendship-brotherhood-companionship-affection-caring-desire…**_

_**Love!**_

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

_**Later…**_

A fire crackled in the Gryffindor Common Room's grate. Darkness had fallen, and most people had followed the sun's lead to bed, and to sleep.

Only I, and one other, remained there, reading and writing my candlelight and firelight.

"What were you thinking of, John?"

I didn't look up from my Potions essay. "Albus, stop asking. I already said I'm not going to tell you."

I heard Albus sit up from his position on the overstuffed couch. "You were the only one who got the Patronus charm to work. The rest of us were just getting a lot of white fog, but you had a corporeal Patronus wolf prancing around the classroom on your third try! I thought it was going to blind me, it was so bright."

I shook my head. "Not telling."

I could hear the pouting in Albus' voice as certainly as if I'd been watching his face. "Come on, John! I just want some pointers!"

I sighed, and threw down my quill onto the table. "Fine," I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.

I watched Albus go from pouting to excited in about half a second. "Really? You'll show me what you did?"

I stood and took out my wand. "I'll help you."

Albus jumped up from the couch. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou-"

"Albus, stop it." I took a deep breath. "What memory were you using?"

He blushed. "The day I met you,"

I raised my eyebrows. "That's what I used, the second time."

"Really?"

"Yes. As you noticed, it wasn't the one that got me the best results."

"Oh." Albus looked a little put out when I said that.

"Think of a moment where…" I struggled to find words good enough to describe my memory. "Where…" I started to pace in front of the fire. "Words can't describe the emotion very well."

"Emotion?" Albus asked, with an odd look on his face. "So many good emotions that they wash away all conscious thought?"

I nodded. "That sounds as good a definition as any."

I watched Albus immerse himself in his memory. A warm smile spread over his features, and a fire glowed in his eyes as he said, "_Expecto Patronum_!"

A huge phoenix burst from his wand. The silvery light it gave off lit up the common room, and I had to shield my eyes from the radiance.

_**Love-friendship-brotherhood-companionship-affection-caring-desire…**_

Albus let the phoenix dissipate.

I smiled. "It seems that you didn't really need my help."

Albus shook his head. "No, no, you helped, John."

I lifted my eyebrows.

_How so?_

I sat back in my chair and tried to focus on my potions homework.

_Properties of Amortentia… let's see, a mother-of-pearl sheen to the potion itself, an odor distinctive to each individual, and steam rising in spirals from the cauldron…_

"You know, I don't think either of us is good at saying certain things," Albus said nonchalantly.

_Too nonchalantly. Something's on his mind, and he doesn't know how to phrase it._

"I'm inclined to agree," I said, dotting a final period on my essay. I blew on it, in hopes that it would help the ink dry. I turned in my chair so that I faced Albus.

He looked into my eyes. "John, we've been best friends for more than six years."

"Yes, that's true."

_Where on earth is Albus going with this?_

"Neither of us is remotely interested in girls."

"I thought we covered that in the beginning of last year."

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm making as much a mess of this as I did with that conversation."

"You are?"

He glared at me halfheartedly. "What I'm trying to say is… I like you."

_He _what

_I _cannot_ have heard that right._

"You _what_?"

"I like you, John – in a way that isn't strictly platonic."

_YES!_

I smiled at Albus. "You have far more courage than I, old friend. I feel the same way."

He gaped at me, and then sat down heavily in the chair beside mine. "I was expecting a far different conversation."

"Oh?"

"I never thought you would like me that way."

"Nor I, you, Albus. But, the attraction is there."

We sat in a companionable silence for a while, staring into the depths of the fire.

"What did you use to fuel your Patronus?"

I spoke, even as I tried to divine what secrets the fire could hold. "That hug you gave me on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at the end of last year."

"I loved you, even then."

"I know that now. Hindsight is perfect, after all."

Albus laughed. "Indeed, indeed."

"What about you? What memory did you use?"

"It wasn't a memory, exactly. I thought about all the love I had for you, and you returning it."

I smiled. "Perhaps we can make those thoughts into memories, hmm?"

-------------------------------

Author's Note:

Please tell me what you think - even if it's just to tell me I'm way off base and should stop writing this. I love getting constructive criticsm, so any you can give me would be wonderful!


	2. Chapter 2

Old Friends

-------------------------------

_Being very, very intelligent might create some problems and it has done for Dumbledore, because his wisdom has isolated him… where is his equal, where is his confidant, where is his partner? _

_**JKR in an interview**_

-------------------------------

Part II

-------------------------------

-------------------------------

_3 July 1898_

-------------------------------

"And so it came to pass that… no, no, that's not right…"

I continued to attempt writing a passable sentence, but to no avail. I threw down my quill and sighed, running a hand through my beard.

_Trying to force Calliope – muse of epic and heroic poetry – to help me isn't working. I need to relax and just let the words flow. However, that is a case of easier said, than done…_

The noise of my door-bell ringing made me stop my musing. I hurried to the door, nearly tripping over two stacks of books and one sleepy cat.

"Sorry, Elaine," I said breathlessly, seeing my cat's miffed expression, and then pulled open the door to reveal –

"Albus! What brings you here?"

Albus looked awful. His hair was mussed, and he had the distracted air of one who bears bad news.

_Oh dear. This doesn't bode to turn out well._

I put the kettle on for some tea and had Albus sit down in my softest overstuffed chair. "Now," I asked him, "What's going on?"

Albus brushed a hand absently through his beard. "My sister… you remember what happened to her…"

I nodded. No more words needed to be said about Ariana's mental illness.

_Poor Ariana. No one deserves her fate – to be a six year old child forever, to leave the arms of Mother never, to never be the beautiful woman she could have – would have – been._

_If only, if only._

"Her fits have been getting worse – more and more violent." Albus drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "It's gotten to the point that my mother can't contain it – the magic involved is just too strong."

I chewed at my lip. "Would you be able to set up wards to contain it? Or you and I together?"

Albus took to staring at the ceiling as he thought. "No," he said finally, "It couldn't work without keeping magic from being used at all within the area of the wards – and Ariana is hard enough to handle with magic, much less without it."

I sighed. "What does Aberforth think?"

Albus snorted. "He loves Ariana, but the stress of trying to care for her – trying to give my mother a break – is really starting to strain him. He's spending more and more time with his goats."

Hearing the kettle whistle, I got up and poured tea for Albus and I. The simple acts of measuring, stirring, and pouring helped to calm my nerves _– whenever Albus is upset, _I_ get upset _– and gave me an opportunity to think.

_Okay. Albus can't contain Ariana's fits with wards, neither alone or with my help. Mrs Dumbledore can no longer keep up with the day-to-day care of a mentally ill child – especially one prone to seizures where magical energy expels itself from her body. Aberforth isn't capable of helping – but then, I wouldn't expect him to; he's only fourteen, after all._

I handed Albus his tea, and I watched him add cream rather mechanically. "It's just not fair," he said after a silent moment. "She deserves to be happy, just as everyone does."

I decided to go out on a limb.

_Here goes nothing. I just hope it works…_

"Yes, she deserves to be happy – but so do you, and so does your mother, and so does your brother. I've been watching how you interact, Albus; I don't think your mother can take much more."

Albus slumped in the chair, looking defeated. "What would you have me do?" he croaked, "Send her to St Mungo's? Merlin only knows what they would do to her there…"

"They would help her," I said firmly. "That's their job, isn't it? To help ill people?"

"True." Albus rubbed his brow. "I can't help but feel uneasy, though. Sane or insane, she's still my sister, John, and I don't want anything to happen to her."

I tried to smile. "St Mungo's might not be able to cure her, but they would, at least, take some of the strain off your mother, and your brother by association."

Albus sipped at his tea. "You really think that Ariana should go to St Mungo's?"

I nodded.

_You and your mother have tried to bring your sister back, Albus, but you can do no more. She is lost to you. Give her over to the care of someone who knows better how to help her._

I didn't voice these thoughts, however.

Albus smiled warmly. "Thank you, old friend," he said, "you have helped me more than you know."

"I have?"

_How could I have helped you? You are the better half of me, not the other way around._

"The only solution that my mind could come up with was to send my sister into the care of someone who won't have any love for her – someone who would help her because it is their responsibility to help. You came up with the same answer, and that helps to ease my mind a little."

"Why?"

_Master of monosyllabic questions today, are we, John Abrams?_

"Because I trust you," Albus stated baldly. "I care deeply for you. Your approval means everything to me."

"You could just say, 'I love you,' you know." I smirked. "I love you, Albus."

He laughed. "And I you – which, apparently, I already said."

Elaine jumped into Albus' lap. He chuckled and patted her affectionately.

I glared halfheartedly at my cat. "Oh, right," I muttered, "you love Albus more than you love me, right Elaine?"

Elaine meowed in response, and then went back to nuzzling Albus' hand.

-------------------------------

_5 July 1898_

-------------------------------

I Apparated to the Dumbledore home in Godric's Hollow, wearing my most comfortable robes. My hair and beard were rustling in the slight breeze, and I could hear the noise of Aberforth's goats as they foraged in the woods around me.

_Personally, I can't se why Aberforth has such a liking for them. They're mean-tempered, and they smell foul. Perhaps he sees in them his own spirit – but I don't know. I shall never know, and I resign myself to that in some things._

Striding up to the front door, I found myself wondering if Albus and I had made the right decision.

_Ariana isn't getting any better, despite the excellent love and care Mrs Dumbledore is giving her. Albus and Aberforth don't know how to help her, other than care for her as if she were a small child. What more can they – or I, for that matter – do for her?_

I lifted the polished brass knocker – made in the shape of a goat's head, I noted with a chuckle – and rapped it upon the door.

"Coming, coming!" came a female voice from within the house. The door opened to reveal –

"Mrs Dumbledore!" I grinned, "So good to see you!"

She drew me into a hug. "It's good to have you here, John." Her smile made her careworn face look a little less burdened. White hair danced around her face as she led me into the kitchen. "I don't know what we would do without you," she said, pressing a cup of hot, sweet tea into my hands.

Albus came into the kitchen, looking a little drawn. He brightened when he saw me, however. "John," he greeted me without preamble.

I nodded at him, smiling. "Albus."

Albus poured himself some tea. "I've got all of Ariana's things packed," he said. "Now we just need to get her to St Mungo's without rousing one of her fits."

I nodded and sipped at the hot, sweet tea. "That's going to be that hardest part of all this – convincing Ariana that nothing's wrong, I mean."

Mrs Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I think she already knows something is going on," she said, "but she doesn't know what it is. She's more confused than anything."

_Who wouldn't be? She hasn't left the Dumbledore's residence since they moved from Mould-on-the-Wold to Godric's Hollow. She's going to an unfamiliar environment, and that is hard on even the most prepared of minds._

I said, "What about Aberforth?"

Albus stared at his cup, and said, "After getting Ariana to the hospital, telling Aberforth what we've done with his sister is going to be the least enjoyable thing we have to do."

I heard the back door close with a thump. "Tell me what?" Aberforth asked. "Something happened with Ariana?"

I looked closer at Aberforth. Only fourteen years old, he looked older, and more careworn. Short, dark brown hair framed his face, making his ruddy skin seem all the more reddish; he was stocky where Albus was lanky, tanned where Albus was pale – in fact, if it weren't for his eyes, a stunningly sunny blue, I probably would never have guessed that he was Albus' brother.

_How odd is it, that only in his eyes can I tell Aberforth's brotherly ties with Albus?_

Mrs Dumbledore seemed hesitant to answer him, and Albus all the more so.

_It falls to me, then. Oh joy; Aberforth isn't the nicest person on his good days, and on his bad days a griffin would probably be less grouchy. I'll have to break it to him gently._

_I hope this works. _

I spoke. "Aberforth, you're not going to like this."

He looked at me shrewdly. "I heard Ariana's name. Does this have something to do with her?" Worry made his face frown. "She's not hurt, is she? Any more than she already is, I mean?"

Mrs Dumbledore shook her head. "No, Abe, she's not is any danger. And it's not nice to eavesdrop, either."

"I wasn't dropping no eaves, Mum, honest – I was coming in from the woods, and you left the windows open." He gestured to the, indeed, open windows behind Albus. "Is it my fault that my ears are good enough to overhear your conversation?"

"Anyway," Albus interrupted, "to answer you, Aberforth, we're moving Ariana to St Mungo's."

Aberforth gaped at Albus a moment, and then swung his gaze to his mother's face. "You've got to be joking," he finally said. "We've cared for her well enough. Why would we hurt her by taking her from a place she knows and loves – away from people she knows and loves? Wouldn't that hurt her more than if we kept her here, and took care of her ourselves?"

"We've thought about this for a very long time, Abe," Mrs Dumbledore said. "I'm getting tired. It's becoming harder and harder for me to restrain Ariana's magical outbursts. The last one might have hurt me, badly, if Albus hadn't been here to help me."

Tears danced in Aberforth's eyes. "Can I… can I, at least, go say goodbye?"

Mrs Dumbledore enveloped the not-so-unwilling Aberforth in an embrace. "It's not good-bye," she said, finally, "it's more of an 'I'll see you later.'"

Aberforth chuckled weakly.

"We will go to see her once a week, when you're home, and on Christmas and Easter. It's not a… forever goodbye."

I set down my tea and caught Albus' eye. He nodded, and moved over to me.

I whispered in his ear. "Does your mother know we're…"

"Together? I'm not sure. I think she suspects, though."

"We will need to tell her eventually."

"Not today. It'll be hard enough for her without Ariana here."

"I agree with that – but it should be soon."

"Soon." Albus nodded.

We looked back over to Aberforth and Mrs. Dumbledore. Aberforth seemed to have got a grip on himself. Though tear tracks were still visible on his cheeks, his eyes were not trembling, and neither were his hands. "Can I…?" He gestured up the stairs.

I nodded, and he bolted for Ariana's room. Albus followed him, but for walking more sedately, and I would have as well, had Mrs Dumbledore not grasped my arm.

Her blue eyes bored into my grey. "Take care of her," she whispered fiercely. "Make sure that she's safe."

"I will, Mrs Dumbledore, I will." I pried her fingers from their tight grip on my arm and hurried up the stairs.

-------------------------------

_12 July 1898_

-------------------------------

"Elaine, get out of the way – kitty, come on now…" I tried to persuade my cat to move out from beneath my sofa. "Elaine, Mrs Dumbledore will be here in less than ten minutes, and I need to use a vacuuming charm in here…"

She meowed at me, clearly unimpressed with my pleas.

_Alright, I'll try a different tack._

"Elaine, Albus is coming. Will you be a good cat for Albus' sake?"

She blinked, and then ran for my bedroom, a blur of orange tabby fur.

_Thank Merlin. I was afraid I wouldn't have enough time to finish cleaning._

I stood from my kneeling position, cast an ironing charm on my robes to get the creases out of them, and magically vacuumed all the dust bunnies from my books, chairs, and little knickknacks. Sunlight glinted upon every metal surface, making parts of my sitting room seem to gleam with an ethereal light. The light also sparkled on my robes, beautiful garments of a deep navy and embroidered at the hems with silver thread, little good-luck runes stitched with exquisite detail.

_At least Albus and I don't have to worry about telling Mother. _

I said a sarcastic little prayer in my mind for my (deceased) mother.

_May God have mercy on your soul, you mean-spirited cowardly housewife. Maybe the Lord, Blessed be He, will grant you clemency in death that I could not in life._

Though I had been confirmed as the sole recipient of both my father's estate, what little there was of it, and my mother's, which was considerably larger, I had refused to touch the money as of yet.

_It's a matter of principle. I didn't like them, and they didn't like me, and that was the way the world turned. That now they lay in the Abrams family crypt changes little of my perception of them._

_The only person in my family that I ever really cared for was Uncle Alfred._

The kind, cheery face of my uncle came to my mind, as he was a few years before his death. Tall, rotund, and balding, with an enormously bushy brown moustache, he coughed and wheezed from all the pipe tobacco he smoked.

_His compassionate, merry outlook on life probably made him seem younger than he was – even though he was nearly a decade older than Father, Uncle Alfred wasn't anywhere near as cantankerous. I never thought of him as an old man – too much energy lived in that frail body to ever really be old._

A wan smile crossed my face.

_I was sad when he died. He always gave me more affection than my parents – and, for that, he will always have a special place in my heart. Right next to Albus', that is, and Mrs Dumbledore's._

I double-checked that I had cleaned every surface, that my robes were on straight, and that my hair was parted neatly down the middle.

_Good, good. Now all I'm waiting for is –_

Three loud clangs of my door-bell alerted me to someone on my stoop.

_- Albus and Mrs Dumbledore._

My stomach returned to being a little queasy.

_I really hope that I've judged her reaction correctly. She's the only mother figure I've really had, and to have her turn her back on me would be traumatizing, to say the least._

I opened the door to reveal Albus, wearing a rather flamboyant emerald green robe, and Mrs Dumbledore, dressed in her traditional Sunday best – a bonnet decorated with three pheasant feathers, and a long wine-colored dress.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Dumbledore," I kissed her hand in greeting. "Good afternoon, Albus," my eyes sparkled, half with anticipation and half with nervousness, as I looked into his face.

"Good afternoon, John." Mrs Dumbledore smiled at me.

_Here's to hoping she'll still be smiling after all of this is said and done._

"Good afternoon, old friend," Albus winked as he caught my eye.

_The wink can't hide his own nervousness, not anymore than my smile hides mine from him._

I smiled uneasily. "Come in, come in. Shall we have some tea before we discuss other matters?"

_Please say tea, please say tea…_

She looked shrewdly into my face before answering, "I have nowhere pressing to be. Tea sounds lovely, dear."

_Thank Merlin._

_I need to take some time to prepare myself for what is to come._

_Later…_

"What is it that you wish to tell me, Albus – John?"

I put down my cup of tea rather quickly. Albus set his on his saucer with the genteel touch of a gentleman used to stressful situations.

_Which he is. He was always the intermediary our year mates at Hogwarts chose to straighten out longstanding feuds – or occurrences that could become longstanding feuds._

"Do you remember, Mother," Albus said slowly, "a conversation we had, more than two years ago, over my choice of rather… effeminate clothing?"

"Yes, I do." Mrs Dumbledore looked into Albus' eyes. "Does the bit of news you wish to tell me now have something to do with that conversation?"

"Yes, it does – rather a lot, actually." I answered.

She latched her iron gaze into my eyes. "Am I to assume that you and Albus share in this bit of information?"

"You may so assume, Mrs Dumbledore."

Albus sighed. "What I'm trying to say, Mother, is that I'm not attracted to girls."

Her eyes widened a little. "Ah. That explains much, then."

_It seems that it's time for me to take the plunge._

"I have no interest in girls as partners either, Mrs Dumbledore."

She closed her eyes slightly. "I thought as much," she said finally. "You and Albus are alike in so many ways – I could not see only one of you having this… nature."

"That is not the only news we have for you," I said.

"This news requires that you reacted well to, as you called it, our natures, Mother." Albus continued.

Mrs Dumbledore looked between Albus and I.

_Here goes nothing…_

I put a hand over one of Albus'. "We've been together since September of last year."

Mrs Dumbledore's lips twitched faintly. "You have been suitably reserved, I hope?"

"Of course," Albus answered easily. "Neither of us is under any illusions to what most wizards would think of those people like us."

"Good," she stated gruffly, "because they will be many, far outnumbering the accepting, in your lives."

"However, this does bring to mind another conversation we had, Mother," Albus wrung his hands, "about where I had decided to live."

I smiled. "My uncle Alfred left me a good deal of money in his will, when he died a few years ago, as well at this little house. I have enough funds to live on while I try to get my first book published, and then some – enough that Albus and I could exist comfortably, until he can get a Mastery in Transfiguration or Defense against the Dark Arts."

Mrs Dumbledore nodded, with tears in her eyes. "I'm just happy that you're happy," she said, waving Albus off with a negligent hand. "My children are growing up. I'm not sure how your father would have reacted to this, Albus, but know that I will always love you."

Albus' eyes twinkled. "That means a lot to me, Mother."

"To us," I said.

-------------------------------

_1 August 1898_

-------------------------------

I sighed, staring apprehensively at the rickety ladder descending from my ceiling.

_Of all the places I never wanted to venture, Mt Everest and Uncle Alfred's attic top the list – I'm not sure which one. So why am I standing here, at the bottom of a stepladder that looks like it may not bear my weight, just to get into a dark, moldy, dusty garret?_

_**It's the only part of the house you haven't cleaned yet, **_a voice that sounded a lot like Albus' told me. _**And if you don't get all of that mold out, it'll spread to the rest of the house – which would be even less fun than going into the dreaded attic.**_

I ran a hand through my hair.

_He's right – _I'm_ right – and furthermore, I need to stop being a coward. I am a slave to no one, and least of all to my fear._

My inner pep-talk didn't work well enough to make me lose my trepidation, but it was good sufficient to get me up the ladder and into the loft. Sitting on the landing, I coughed at the stale air.

_Yuck._

I shrugged and stood, brushing the dust off the seat of my robes.

_The quicker I work, the less the amount of time I have to spend up here. And, as an added incentive, Albus brought home from the farmer's market a quart of strawberries that are absolutely mouthwatering…_

I shook myself from my visions of strawberries and Albus.

_Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work I go…_

I pointed my wand at the first splotch of mold I saw. "_Tergeo_" I swung my wand around to the next. "_Tergeo_," I said, and went hunting for the next, my mind drifting.

_I wonder if I could say that Albus and I are married. Effectively, we are – we live in the same house, we use the same Gringotts bank vault – number 711, as of this morning – we don't make plans without one first consulting the other… Yes, it sounds like marriage to me. Perhaps not to the Ministry, but it is matrimony to me, to Albus, and to his family._

_That's good enough for me. I've never cared much what anyone else thought of me – except for Albus; his opinion kept me from both depression and egocentricity…_

My foot hit something long, thin, and very stiff, tripping me and nearly sending me face-first into the floor. Thankfully, I caught myself before I hit the ground.

_Whew. That was a close one. _

I massaged my brow, trying to get my heart rate back to a normal pace.

_Thank Merlin Albus isn't home; he would have come up here to check on me, and I'd rather refuse myself the embarrassment._

I ran a hand through my beard, turning back to see what I had stumbled on.

All I could see of it was a bit of gilt-edged molding, as the thing – whatever it was – was stuck beneath a crate full of Christmas china.

_I've got to remember we have that. I don't want to get a duplicate set unless these are really ugly._

I levitated the heavy crate with care – _I don't want to damage the plates within, of course_ – to reveal a portrait. The man it depicted was no one I recognized – he was obviously older than fifty, having a good deal of white hair at his temples where otherwise his hair was brown. His face was covered in bushy facial hair, except for his chin, giving one the overall impression of an old walrus. His eyes were a deep shade of grey, and seemed to glow with an inner light.

I lifted the painting from the floor, muttering, "_Deleo_." The spell removed the thick layer of dust from the canvas, and I looked closer at the writing on the bottom of the image.

**Murdoch Alexander MacArthur, 1769-1853**

_He's probably one of my ancestors – but not one I've heard of before._

I put the painting beside the ladder.

_I'll hang it up above the fireplace downstairs. I'd been looking for some art to put there, and this seems as good a piece as any._

I moved along, muttering, "_Tergeo_," every few steps to get rid of the mold and mildew.

_Might as well get something done while Albus is visiting Ariana and I'm stuck with writer's block._

All in all, I found only a few things worth rescuing from Uncle Alfred's attic. A few quilts and lots of knitted blankets were stuffed into a few of the crates, to my surprise.

_Uncle Alfred either had very cold feet or far too much time on his hands. It is good work, though, and magic can do any cleaning or mending that they need._

But, to my surprise, one of the crates held a beautiful dagger and its scabbard. It wasn't particularly ornate, being only silver tooling and black leather – but its simple, functional form only made it the more handsome in my eyes. The grip was stained with the grasp of someone's hand, but unsheathing it, I saw that the blade wasn't rusted or dinged in any way.

_Someone cared for this weapon – one of my ancestors._

I shifted the knife into the light, admiring the blade.

_And now it passes unto me._

I sheathed it with a twinge of reluctance, placed it back into the crate, and kept working, levitating the crates worth saving behind me as I went down the ladder. I breathed easier in the air that wasn't as moldy and stuffy as that in the attic. I breathed even better when the last of the delicate china was safely resting on solid ground.

_I should probably try my hand at writing again. "Three leprechauns and a wizard walk into a bar…" really doesn't do me much good for my novel, no matter how much Albus' jokes make me laugh._

_Later…_

I poked and prodded at the Muggle wood-burning stove (modified for magic) in an attempt to get it to light.

_Drat it all… I'm hungry, and I need to get a pot of soup going, but this thing is going to face the brunt of my anger if it doesn't light…_

With a snapping sound, the stove lit, and I could feel the waves of heat being sent into my cooking, both the cast iron pot full of soup and a baking pan full of a simple bread loaf.

_That's good._

I turned around, satisfied that I would have something hot to eat later, to look at another bit of handiwork – the portrait of Murdoch MacArthur, hanging above the fireplace.

_I didn't think I'd find anything of much value up in that attic – but I did. I found a bit of my family history. I'd have to say that that expedition was a success – not that I want to do it again anytime soon._

I heard the door open. "I'm home!" called Albus' voice.

I laughed. "Albus, why on earth do you always call out that you're home?"

"Because there's no place like home?" His footsteps, light on the scrubbed stone floors, shuffled behind me.

"Right," I muttered dryly, not even turning around, "And I'm the long-lost Heir of Merlin."

_Now, why do I sense an Albus-faking-a-pout coming on?_

"You spoil my fun, John," Albus said, his voice laced with a moping sound.

_Bingo – there it is._

_Perhaps I can tell because I know him too well, too well to be fooled by his manipulation of what he seems to be. It's almost as if he was acting – and everyone but I is in the audience, captivated by his seeming bravado and majesty. But I – I am in the wings, seeming the sweat on his brow as he works to keep up the façade, strives to be what everyone else wants him to be._

Albus swung his arm around my shoulder, bringing me from my thoughts. "What's in the pot?"

"Beef and vegetable soup."

"Mmm, my favorite. You _did_ remember the bay leaf this time?"

"Only for you, Albus, only for you."

There was a distinct pause in talking – not in _noise_, though. Any peeping tom brash enough – and powerful enough – to get through the obscuring charms on the windows would have been treated to a mildly pornographic sight.

_I'm not sure that I'm thinking straight. Merlin, Albus may act like little more than a bookworm, but I didn't think one could find any of _that_ in a book._

By the time we had separated, and had regained enough of our minds to think properly, the soup was hot and the loaf was done. We ate in contented silence for awhile, our minds drifting from happy thought to happy thought.

Midway through the meal, Albus said, "I had a chat with a rather interesting fellow today."

_Something's not right here. Albus is nonchalant – _too_ blasé for it to be a real sentiment. He's hiding his emotions from me – but what kind of trauma would have him acting like this?_

I reclined slightly in my chair, my back pressing up against the plush support. I steepled my fingers before my nose, and looked hard into Albus' face. "And?"

"It seems that old Bathilda Bagshot has relatives in Imperial Germany – or had, at any rate. Her great-nephew has come to live with her." Albus took a deep breath. "Gellert is his name – Gellert Grindelwald."

I raise my eyebrows. "I take it you didn't get a good first impression of the fellow?"

"No, I didn't. He's fifteen – barely Aberforth's age – and yet, an intelligence lurks in his eye that scares the living daemons from me."

_I have a bad feeling about this._

"What does he look like?"

_Who is this Grindelwald? Why does his very name send shivers up my spine?_

"He's rather handsome – going to break some lady's heart, I would wager. Long, blond hair, pale green eyes, and a face that is given to laughter." Albus gave a shudder. "I would feel better if I didn't get the impression that his laughter would be _at_ me, not _with_ me."

_So. He _is_ the merry-faced one I imagined Albus dancing with so long ago. However, Albus doesn't seem to like him now – perhaps I have averted a disaster._

"You worry about him?"

"What he may do to others? Yes, I do." Albus shuddered again. "He kept rambling on about 'the greater good' during the whole time I spoke with him. I got the impression that he would like to rule the world, both to have such great power and so someone more evil couldn't."

I scowled. "Why not trust power into the hands of the many? No-one having more power over anyone else, every man having rights that no-one can take away?"

"I agree – however, most people don't. They like to think that there is someone lower on the pecking order than them, that they have power over someone because of race, or religion, or anything else."

"Even who they are attracted to – men to men, women to women, someone to either gender."

"Yes, even that. One day, someday, those like us," Albus' face took on a smile, "will be able to walk hand in hand through Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade, or Muggle London, and people will not discriminate against us for it."

"You're wishing for the Second Coming, old friend."

He chuckled. "Perhaps I am."

I leaned forward in my chair. "I spent my afternoon cleaning out the attic."

Albus winced sympathetically. "Pity for you."

"Not really. Indeed it was moldering, and reeked of stale air, and was otherwise forbidding, but I found some rather… interesting things."

He raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

"Indeed. Either Uncle Alfred had very cold feet, or a lot of time on his hands, because there are an awful lot of quilts and crocheted blankets."

Albus gave a surprised laugh.

_Good, his mind is fully off that scoundrel Grindelwald._

"I found a set of Christmas china, should we need it."

"Good, good," Albus said.

"And, for my final act," I drummed my fingers on the table, "Look behind you, to the top of the fireplace."

Albus twisted in his chair to see the portrait of Murdoch MacArthur. He stared at it a bit, and then turned back to me.

_Something's not right. He looks as though…_

"I think I've seen him before," Albus said in a low voice I hadn't heard in years. "I think I recognize him."

"Where would you have seen one of my relatives before?"

"In a book on Wizarding history." Albus stood abruptly, and made a beeline for the library –

_And the books within, I'd assume, but what could this man – Murdoch MacArthur_ _– have done to distress Albus so much?_

Albus returned with a colossal, slightly dusty book. He set it on the table and, pages crackling out of a long disuse, found a certain paragraph.

"Here he is, Murdoch MacArthur." Albus stared at the passage for a long moment. "He's famous for being the first Squib, and last member, of the ancient Wizarding MacArthur line. He had no known children, and no other known relatives had legitimate children to inherit into the line of succession."

"That's all? I thought he might have led a rebellion or something, judging by the look on your face when you saw him."

_That voice scared the daemons from me, sends shivers through me, Albus. Is tells me that you're not just my confidant, partner, or even lover; you're wizard with enough power to destroy someone's being utterly. It's a good thing you're learned patience, kindness, and mercy, old friend. It also spoke of an upset – something you weren't expecting…_

"No, no rebellions. Sorry to disappoint you." Albus was still staring at the paragraph.

_He's not telling me something. Otherwise, he would have put the book away, and he wouldn't be chewing at his lip._

"What aren't you telling me, old friend?"

He paused. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Knowing is usually better than not knowing."

"And, yet, sometimes ignorance is bliss."

"Touché." I smiled wanly. "I still want to know what's got your tongue in a knot."

Albus sighed. "Here," he said, passing the book to me. "You won't believe me if I just told you."

I took the heavy tome into my arms and found the passage. "The MacArthur family had many great wizards in its branches," I read aloud, "including Isaac Newton and William Shakespeare, and ultimately traced its lineage back to…" I stopped, unable to form the words.

_It can't be saying what I think it's saying. It can't, can't, can't, can't…_

Albus finished for me, his face hidden behind a hand. "Merlin himself."

"Double damn."

"You're the heir of Merlin." Albus stared into my face, his own expression unreadable.

"That's what the book says."

"The book is probably right."

"I hope not." I shook my head. "I don't want this, Albus."

_I should get my genealogy traced with Gringotts, I'm sure they have spells that can do that._

"That much I can tell."

I sighed, letting myself sink bonelessly into my chair. "You were right, Albus. When ignorance is bliss, t'is folly to be wise."

His lips twitched. "While normally I prefer to be right rather than wrong, not in this case. Not with your happiness on the line."

"No one else can know." I stared, unseeing, at the unblinking portrait of MacArthur. "Albus, no one else can know – _ever_."

"I understand," he said, nodding. "You don't want to be ruler of the Wizengamot, or a celebrity just because of who one of your ancestors was."

"Yes, but that's not all of it."

"It isn't? Why else would you want to remain in hiding?"

"You."

He looked baffled. "Me? What have I got to do with anything?"

I rolled my eyes.

_Some days, it's remarkable that he trusts himself to pull on his robes correctly._

"You're my life-partner, Albus. How do you think most people would react to two men holding hands in a bar, much less when one's the heir of Merlin and the other is the smartest man to grace Hogwarts' halls in centuries?"

"I'm afraid I still don't understand, John."

"You matter to me, more than anyone else. If someone gives you a nasty look, it takes all the self-control I have to restrain myself from hexing them. I don't care what people think of me, but I do care what they think of you."

"But… but…"

I read Albus' emotions in his face.

_**I'm not worthy of your love. I'm not worthy of your trust. I'm not worthy of your presence. I'm not even worth any smile that you might give me.**_

"Albus, I love you. What suffering could I not bear from life, so long as you were there at my side? What enemy could I not face, if you were right behind me? I would follow you to the limits of the Universe and back again. No one alive has an opinion that I actually take to heart, save for you. I swore to it, remember?"

He smiled faintly.

_Well, it's a start at least._

I reached my hand across the table and grasped on of Albus'. "My hand in yours, my might with yours, my life for yours…"

"Now and forevermore," Albus finished.

"Now, tell me again why I stay with you."

"I love you." I waited expectantly for the second half of that statement. I wasn't disappointed. "You love me."

"What could be more important? Image?" I snorted. "I could care less what people think I am, as long as you know who and what I am."

He chuckled "We both know each other far too well."

"Too well if we wanted to remain separate, anyway. But we're not – we are one and yet two, each a half of a whole."

"More than we were."

"Exactly. Now you understand why I would never rule the Wizengamot willingly?"

"Yes, I do."

_Right. And the sky is green._

"I want to hear you say it, Albus."

"You're like a dog with a bone with this."

"And for good reason. Say it."

"For my sake." I looked like admitting he was important had taken a lot out of Albus.

I poked him in the chest. "Never forget that, Albus. For your own sake do I love you."

"And I you."

"I chose you."

"I know."

"It wouldn't be the same if I hadn't."

"No, it wouldn't."

I smiled wickedly. "Shall we go and test my obscuring charms?"

His face matched mine. "So we shall."

-------------------------------

_7 August 1898_

-------------------------------

I quietly pulled myself from the bed I shared with Albus, taking care not to disturb him.

_He'll be mad for about five seconds when he realizes I gave him a sleeping draught in his hot chocolate last night. If I hadn't, though, he would have woken before I, as he usually does, and my element of surprise would be denied._

_It's his birthday, after all. How would I be able to have him wake up to the smells of his favorite breakfast if he wakes up before I?_

I stood there a moment, taking in the peacefully sleeping features of my partner. His hair lay in disarray all over his pillow, and he seemed remarkably vulnerable without his familiar half-moon glasses. His lavender-colored flannel nightclothes were mostly covered up by the soft sheets, and I could see his moustache rustle with every breath. In, out. In, out.

I pulled myself away regretfully. The regret was swallowed up by mischief, though, as I padded into the kitchen.

_Strawberry waffles, here I come._

Albus strode into the kitchen about an hour later, with a miffed expression that disappeared the moment his eyes caught the breakfast I had prepared.

"You made all this for me?" he croaked, reaching for the teapot, eyes still staring at the strawberry pancakes, bacon, toast, and hash browns.

"Well, I intend to eat _some_ of it. But, yes, I got up early to make sure that it would be ready by the time you woke up."

He shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of any leftover sleepiness.

I resisted the urge to sigh.

_He still doesn't think he's anything special. He still doesn't think he's worthy of my love, or attentions._

_Of course, the same might be said for me…_

Albus grasped his mug, full of hot, bitter tea between his hands, his eyes closed. He mouthed a few words, but I couldn't make them out.

His eyes shot open, twinkling like twin stars. "It's my birthday, isn't it?"

It raised my eyebrows. "Indeed, t'is. Am I to assume that you lost track of the date?"

He nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid I did." He laughed. "I'm not quite sure which shocks me more – the fact that I forgot my birthday, or the fact that you remembered when I didn't."

"Yes, I'm not particularly given to remembering dates, am I?" I slid into the seat opposite Albus'. "This one, though, is special, because it was the day Kendra Dumbledore gave life to the being who is now enjoying my pancakes." I chuckled. "It's a good thing that you found someone who could cook worth his salt, old friend, because you certainly can't."

_I thought I'd never get the smell of burning pies out of the kitchen after Albus' last attempt to make me dinner. Too bad, it is, that food is one of the exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elementary Transfiguration._

"No, cooking is not something I do well." He made noises of enjoyment, digging into his breakfast.

_I'm quite pleased with my efforts this morning. Albus isn't one to praise lightly, and he is over the moon with enjoyment. As am I, come to think of it._

"Your appointment with Ragnar is tomorrow at half-past eleven, if I remember correctly." Albus said.

_Oh, yes, my genealogy test is set for tomorrow._

"Yes, it is."

He looked up, seemingly trying to read my emotions in my face. After a pause, he said, "How do you feel about it?"

I shrugged.

_Some things are hard to put into words._

Albus' lips twitched. "You only do that in two situations: when you're trying to hide something or when you aren't sure what words to use to describe what you feel."

I laughed. "It's the second one."

"I thought as much." He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "May I try?"

I raised an eyebrow. "If you wish."

_What's on your mind now, Albus?_

"Your stomach is in knots because you can't decide whether or not you want the power that comes along with being the Heir of Merlin."

I gaped at him in open-mouthed shock for a moment, before saying, "I don't want this, old friend. I am no lord, no king. I have no power to rule the hearts of men, to inspire them to great things, to give them hope when all light fails."

"No, no." Albus shook his head, his beard wagging, an expression of fierce stubbornness on his face. "No, your mind refuses this, power that would be given to you with gladness. Your heart can see what your eyes refuse to see: that you would do good things with your power."

I stared hard into Albus' eyes. "So you would rather have a benevolent dictator than a largely cacophonous democracy?"

"No, no. Power belongs in the hands of the many. I simply think that you would be happier if you weren't an Heir. I think it would be better for you – and, by extension, me as well – if you weren't an Heir."

I sipped at my tea. "I think you might be right."

_I may yet be in a good mood tomorrow. I can only hope it turns out as I wish, and not as my mind says it will._

_Optimism isn't my forte. It is Albus', and I ought to listen to him more often. He is my better half, after all._

-------------------------------

_8 August 1898_

-------------------------------

I strode up Diagon Alley, drawing a few stares to my elegant crimson and silver robes – what could be seen under my black cloak, that is. My beard flew in the breeze, and small crackles of electricity fizzled between the hairs.

I walked up the steep marble stairs into Gringotts, my mind growing more apprehensive by the minute. I could feel my face line with anticipation of ill news, my hands wringing at each other in my worry.

_I don't want power. I don't want fame. I don't want praise from the many. I honestly don't care. I just want a comfortable home, people enjoying the books I write, savoring the wisdom of others' writings, and nights spent curled up before the fireplace with Albus._

My left hand went to the hilt of a disillusioned dagger at my waist.

_It's a good thing Albus knew that I needed to bring my own knife for the ritual, and an even better thing that Uncle Alfred had left me one._

A goblin cleared his throat, drawing my attention from my thoughts, startling me. "You are John Abrams?"

I tugged at the collar of my robe. "Er, yes," I said.

The goblin nodded curtly. "Follow me."

I walked behind him – as the goblin was obviously male – struggling to keep myself sedate.

_Not that it's easy. I'm worried, and it shows. I really don't want to be an Heir of Merlin. I like being ordinary – or, rather, as ordinary as I ever can be._

My guide stopped abruptly before a certain section of wall. He stroked the wall in a certain place. I watched, entranced, as a section of the wall melted away before my eyes.

I blinked.

_Wow. I love magic. _

_It can do things that are thought impossible by every European Muggle, and yet are taken for granted by every European wizard and witch. Incredible!_

The goblin stepped inside. I followed, the crown of my hat just brushing the lintel of the doorway. I entered a little room, a place nearly bare save for two chairs and a table. On the table lay a quill – the like of which I'd never seen before – a crystal bowl engraved with runes of power, and a scroll of parchment.

I sat down in one of the chairs, removed my hat, and ran a hand through my beard. The goblin sat down in the chair opposite me.

"Whenever you are ready, I will begin the ritual," he said, steepling his long fingers.

Removing the disillusionment charm from my dagger, I unsheathed it. I took a deep breath, feeling my magic gather at my fingertips.

_Here goes nothing._

I cut a long but shallow gash into the flesh of my left hand. It stung – _ouch_ – and bled profusely into the crystal bowl. A flash of magical light burst from the quill, and it began to write, in my blood, upon the parchment.

_My blood, used as ink. That's a rather creepy thought, but oh well. Magic is part of the body, as well as the soul, and so if it's going to figure out who my ancestors were, it will need something of me._

_It could have been worse; skin or toenails or other – unmentionable – things. _

My fingers tingled, feeling the quill connect to my magic. Electricity – from my anticipation and worry as much as from the alien magic at work – snapped and crackled through my hair and beard. I watched, rapt in attention, as the quill wrote.

It began with my name at the top of the parchment – John Paul Henry Theophilos Abrams.

_Father just had to give me as many names as Albus. At least they're nice, simple names, except for Theophilos – poor Albus has Wulfric and Percival, of all things. Ouch._

Then it wrote my mother's – Louise Alberta Victoria Peters – and my father's – Nicholas Leopold Alexander Abrams. My mother's line wasn't continued through the generations, but my father's did, with his parents – Fredrick William Charles Abrams and Alexandra Josepha Paulson. There, my grandmother's line ended as well, but not my grandfather's. The next names were Alexander Edward Abrams, my great-grandfather, and his wife, Maria Theresa MacArthur, and then –

_Murdoch Alexander MacArthur, her father. The book was wrong; he did have a child. Albus was right. I really ought to know by now that Albus is almost always right._

Apparently, Murdoch's father was named Gerald Faolan MacArthur, the last wizard of that line until my birth. From his name came a dotted line, and at the end of that dotted line – at the foot of the parchment – came the name I had feared, and yet knew I would see there: _Merlin_.

_Drat._

The goblin blinked at the parchment, and then his face returned to being stoic. "I believe the last Lord MacArthur left something for you," he said, "Please wait here, while I retrieve it."

"All right," I heard myself saying.

I heard the door close behind the goblin with an odd sucking sound. Moments ticked by. I stared at the wall for most of that time, my hands worrying at the fabric of my hat.

_I don't want this. I don't want to be a leader of men. I don't want this honor. I don't want this glory. I never did, and never will. I am not the man for this._

I heard the electricity sparking between the hairs of my beard and moustache. I could feel their energy, their power –

_No, _my_ power. Now it manifests in me, as it did in my ancestors. Has this new knowledge of some locked-up part of me allowed me to become what I am meant to be? Perhaps that is all this is, the role of an Heir in exile. Keeping the flame alive to pass on to the next generation – but after me, there will be no other._

I heard myself laugh, a hoarse, desperate sound that echoed eerily off the walls.

_The line of Merlin – so often thought to be holy, able to survive anything, will die as I do, because I will never sire children._

The door opened again, the goblin returning. He held a small wooden box in his hand, and gave it to me. "May your ancestors show favor with you," he said as he escorted me out of Gringotts' labyrinthine caverns.

"And on you," I replied automatically.

He smiled toothily. "I can tell that you are shaken, wizard. Was one of your ancestors an evildoer?"

"No, quite the opposite. He is an icon of glory and might in the Wizarding World."

"Why not just bask in his honor? Few would blame you."

"Perhaps, but I do not feel that I deserve it. I am an unworthy successor."

The goblin chuckled. "Humble, I see. In the eyes of my people, a humble goblin with great ancestors is given esteem beyond most others. Pride is not something we value." He whispered to me conspiratorially, "If I were in your position, I would be happy that my ancestor was great, but would then try to make a greater glory for myself, so that I could outshine him."

I laughed. "Perhaps." I bowed to him. "Thank you for your advice."

As I left, I could have sworn I heard him whisper, "No, thank you, John Abrams, for thinking so little of the power you could have."

I walked to the Apparition point in Diagon Alley, a place just outside the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, marked by a little wooden sign with the rune for Pluto. I reached the point, and took a deep breath, clutching the box to my chest.

_Destination, Determination, Deliberation…_

Suddenly, I was flung through space and time, squeezed until my lungs were expelled of all air, and then –

I was on the front lawn of my house's garden, standing in the shadow of a large yew tree. I took a few gulps of the clean-smelling air.

_Albus was right. There's no place like home._

I walked up the steps into the house, my mind a little calmer now that I was on my home ground. I turned the knob, opening the front door. It creaked loudly, announcing my arrival. Albus – with his gift for knowing where I was at all times – was in front of me within a second.

"Well?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

I stared into his eyes for a long moment. I could see thoughts flying by, thoughts that said – _don't let it be true, don't let it be true, don't let it be true_ – far clearer than words ever could.

"I am the heir of Merlin." The words sounded odd on my tongue. "Old friend, you were right– oof!"

He caught me up in a bone-crushing embrace before I had even finished my sentence. I could feel his heart beating at a few thousand times a minute, and I felt, rather than heard, the sobs that choked his voice. "I had hoped I was wrong."

"I know, but hope doesn't stop reality." I felt him chuckle, just as I could feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. "Hope just makes it more bearable, hmm?"

He chuckled again, a watery sound. "You're taking this better than I am, John."

"You've always been more given to show your emotions."

"Yes, you're right in that." He released me from the bear hug. His eyes fell to the box that I still held in my arms. "What's in that?"

"Oh, this? The goblin gave it to me as I left Gringotts. Apparently the last Lord MacArthur left something for his heir."

"We should probably see what it is, then."

We sat in the living rooms' plush chairs. I touched the box carefully, noting the smooth grain of the wood and the MacArthur crest engraved into its top.

"Well?" Albus whispered. "Open it already!"

"All right, all right." I put my hand on the crest, willing the box to open, and then, with a _pop_, it did.

_That actually worked?_

The box contained a letter and a second, much smaller box. I took the tightly rolled scroll of parchment and, hands trembling, pulled it open.

-------------------------------

_My dear heir,_

_If you are reading this, that means that I am long since dead. A maudlin start to this letter that might be, but it is the simple truth. It also means that my son, Murdoch, has a magical descendant – a wonderful thing indeed. I had feared that the Merlinus – those who can trace ancestry back to Merlin – would die out as a magical clan. That is a frightening thought, and not just because of the esteem that wizards give to the Merlinus._

_Merlin is a mysterious figure to most wizards, and even more so to Muggles, but he told his tale to his daughter, and she to her son, and he to his son, and so on down the line all the way to me, and from me to you. I tell you now why Merlin is so important to British Wizarding society: it was for his power in his lifetime, and in fear of his descendants after he died, for die he did._

_Why would they fear those of Merlin's blood? In short answer, a prophecy of doom – doom for society. To most, it is a sliver of forgotten knowledge – but it lives in the subconscious, this fear. It was a prophecy given by a lady named Morgana, who may or may not have been Morgan le Fey. What is known is the wording of the prophecy itself:_

_**The one with the power to remake the world comes… Heir of Merlin's blood, heir to power not seen in generations… Society will revile him, as they do all that are his like… He shall fight back, and destroy all those that hate him, leaving only the pure of intent and heart… Only the love of his equal can save him from destroying the world utterly… and in the attempt to create the world, both he and his love must perish to what they were to become that which they could be… The one with the power to remake the world comes…**_

_For the life of me, dear Heir, I cannot understand what this could mean. To destroy the world is one thing – something that has nearly happened so many times – but to make it anew? That is something else entirely. I hope that it makes more sense to you than to me; misunderstanding it could be a terrible thing in its consequences._

_I wish you good fortune, good health, long life, and luck in love, my Heir, and may our ancestors smile upon us._

_Lord Gerald Faolan MacArthur, son of Emrys, Head of the House Regnant Merlinus_

_15 December 1818_

-------------------------------

Albus seemed shocked. "I'd heard of that prophecy before, and I'd never connected it with Merlin's house."

I raised my eyebrows, surprised. "You've heard of it?"

"Yes, it was in that huge volume of Wizarding history I showed you."

"How could it _not_ be common knowledge, then, as MacArthur describes? One of the lines in the prophecy refers to the heir of Merlin's blood."

"Merlin's blood is sometimes a euphemism for British wizards, since we place such great importance on one man – and especially a man we know so little about." Albus shrugged and shook his head, making his beard wag to and fro. "Having it put in this context though… It's fairly obvious that it, indeed, does refer to a blood descendant."

"Well, that's wonderful," I said dryly. "Now I've got a new reason to stay in hiding."

Albus looked confused. "I'm afraid I don't follow, John."

"I'm the last of the line of Merlin – last of the clan Merlinus. I am the last one that this oracle can apply to."

Comprehension dawned on his face. "And so, if this is to come to pass, you have to survive, and if someone wants to keep the status quo…"

"All they would have to do is kill me, or imprison me."

_In a place where I would never see Albus again…_

A vision came to me, of myself, shackled to the wall of a tiny stone cell, far away from any sunlight, or earth, or grass, or water, nor any fire – not even torches – and the air was stale, sticking in my lungs like a choking smoke. My hair was grey and dirty, my beard ragged, my clothes not even fit to be called rags, and I could see my body had been starved and beaten.

The vision of myself sang, in a low voice – I could hardly believe my ears – sang _sotto voce_ of hope, of will, of a yearning to see the stars again. I whirled through space and time and then –

I returned to myself, more specifically the myself sitting in the living room, staring at a letter from a man – my ancestor – long dead.

A chill fell over me, despite the summer's heat, and I shivered.

"Well, that's not a nice thought." Albus moved to be beside me, putting one muscled arm over my shoulder.

I leaned into his embrace.

_Touch isn't a sensation I used to enjoy much – but it seems Albus likes it, and he's making me like it too. No wonder he used a hug to try to tell me that he loved me._

I let go of my emotions, allowing myself to weep. Albus held me as I wept for what some ancestor had made me – what some Seer had made me – what some society had made me.

I found myself opening up my heart to the eyes and ears of God – whatever God there might be.

_I am who and what I am, and in life or death I am free. I have a right to be what I am, and if that means I must destroy a world too rigid to change in order to be with Albus openly, then so be it. I will destroy those who wish to destroy Albus, and he will destroy those who wish to destroy me. This assumes that something will try to destroy us – but we will not wait like lambs before the slaughter._

I promised something in my heart that day, promised to God, to Albus, and to myself.

_I will be ready. I will fight when the battle comes. I will turn the tide._


	3. Chapter 3

Old Friends

-------------------------------

_Being very, very intelligent might create some problems and it has done for Dumbledore, because his wisdom has isolated him… where is his equal, where is his confidant, where is his partner? _

_**JKR in an interview**_

-------------------------------

I was sitting in my squashiest chair, reading a Muggle newspaper, when an owl flew in the window. It was a Great Grey owl, and it bore a letter in its beak. The owl hooted, dropped its burden into my lap, and left the way it came without breaking its flight with a landing.

_Odd. I would have thought it would have stopped for a treat, like Mrs Dumbledore's Scops owl, the hyperactive little Hadrian, does._

I set down my paper and picked up the letter. _Muller and Smith Publishing _read the sender's address – and my name was listed as the recipient.

_Even odder. I didn't expect them to reply back… after all, I sent out seventeen letters – this the seventeenth – and none returned an answer about my manuscript._

I opened the envelope, breaking the blue wax seal and obliterating the symbol on it, two crossed quills.

-------------------------------

_Dear Mr John Abrams,_

_We have reviewed the sample of writings you sent us, and are pleased to inform you that we would be happy to publish the novel you called "The Wizard of Aberdyfi". We beg your permission to change the title for marketing purposes, however._

_In the matter of recompense for publishing…_

-------------------------------

I could read no more. I stood up and jumped for joy.

_Thank God! I thought that my writing would never reach the ears of others. Now, I have hope. Perhaps someone will one day read it and live all the better for reading it. Is that not the test of literature?_

At that moment, Albus made his entrance. "I'm home!" he called.

I laughed, and half-skipped over to the foyer. Unable to contain my pure joy any longer, I burst out, "I'm going to be published!"

The look on Albus' face was priceless to me, an expression of pure joy on my behalf.

"Who is the lucky printing house?" he said, a smile nearly spilling his face in two.

"Muller and Smith."

"Which one are they publishing? I liked 'The Sorcerer's Stone' the best."

"No, they chose 'The Wizard of Aberdyfi', but they're going to rename it."

"I suppose that's all right."

"What about you? Did you get to talk to Flamel?"

_Poor Albus has had the worst luck trying to find a master to apprentice under. I just hope Flamel did not turn him down, as so many others have._

"Yes, I did." Albus' grin showed all of his teeth. "He's taken me on as a probationary apprentice!"

"That's great!" I hugged Albus fiercely. "What are you going to be helping him with?"

"A project on the uses of dragon's blood. Apparently, Mr Flamel thinks that there may yet be more than the discovered nine."

_Albus is happy, and I am happy because he is happy. What joy could be greater than mine? I am the richest man in the world, for here is my other half – by better half – the one I will grow old with, the one I love._

"Oh?"

Albus' face took on a pout. "It might revolutionize the potions industry!"

"I wouldn't know, old friend." I chuckled. "I never was all that good at Potions, you remember."

"No, but you still managed to get an Acceptable on your NEWTs. That has got to count for something."

"Perhaps, perhaps." I chuckled and drew Albus into the kitchen. "This calls for a celebration!"

-------------------------------

_29 November 1898_

-------------------------------

_I hate London. I don't like cities much in general – too many people, too little privacy, too much noise, and the lack of greenery is the worst – but London is the smoggiest, foggiest, most depressing city I've ever visited._

One of those new Muggle horseless carriages zoomed past me, leaving a trail of smelly fumes in its wake. I coughed. And coughed. And coughed again.

_Merlin, that's foul. They think that _those _are going to replace horses in the next century?_

I glared at it – or, rather, in the direction it had gone. I could no longer see the sleek, silvery metallic machine.

_If things stay as they are, those automobiles aren't going to replace anything but horse dung on my most-disliked-and-reviled list._

I coughed again as Albus Apparated in beside me.

"All right?" he asked, a note of worry lacing his voice.

I nodded. "I'm fine, old friend. T'is just one of the new automobiles' exhaust in my face."

He bobbed his head, satisfied, and looked up. I followed his gaze – _Purge and Dowse, Ltd_., read a sign above our heads.

_I'll follow Albus while we're at St Mungo's. He's been here before, to see Ariana's quarters after school term ended for us a few months back, and since early July his sister, herself. I've only been here once, when we were delivering Ariana, and even then, I just supplied the power while we were Apparating here – Albus had the destination in mind._

"Hello," Albus said to a seemingly broken mannequin in the storefront window, "We're here to see Ariana Dumbledore."

To my mild surprise, the mannequin nodded, and the door beside it unlocked with an audible click. Albus gave the knob a quick turn, and he entered without lingering on the stoop.

_I love magic. I'm constantly astonished at what it can do – despite being one of the better wizards of this day and age, I seem to surprise myself a little every time a recall a spell, cast it, and it actually works._

I noticed Albus holding the door open for me, and hurried to catch up.

He chuckled. "What held your thoughts this time?" Albus' eyes twinkled merrily, almost as much as the shiny gold buttons on the Muggle suit he wore.

I smirked. "I love magic."

"So do I," he strode up the stairs to the fifth floor with an ease born of practice, "so do I."

He knocked on a large, heavy door that read, _Long Term Residents, _and a slightly plump, elderly Healer answered it. Her frown turned to a smile when she saw who had knocked. "Hello there, Albus! Come to see little Ariana again?"

"Yes, Madam Robertson, I and," Albus gestured to me, "John Abrams have come to check up on her."

I felt Robertson's gaze sweep over my black Muggle-style suit, and its lingering on my royal purple waistcoat and silvery cravat. My steely grey eyes met her soft, chocolate brown ones – a color in remarkable contrast to the icy dislike in her gaze.

_I wonder, does she just have an aversion to visitors in general, or is this more personal?_

"Well, I trust Albus, and any friend of his is welcome here," she said gruffly. She stood aside, allowing us in. "Careful not to disturb any of the patients."

_That's a relief. I may not care if people dislike me, but Albus does, and it would take a lot of effort to restrain him._

_Not that I would really want to put a lot of effort into protecting one whom had insulted me…_

We came to a door, one that had a sign – the letters obviously made by an unskilled child's hand – hanging from the doorknob. My mind could barely read the letters – _Ariana's Room._

_Well, that answers that question._

Albus turned the knob gently, pushing the door open so softly that it didn't even creak.

_Amazing. He must have perfected his touch with that door._

Suddenly, one of the hinges squealed, announcing our presence.

_Drat._

Ariana looked up from a picture book, mist-stained sunlight dancing on her strawberry-blonde hair, a happy glow shining in her amber eyes.

_I'll never get over that – Percival Dumbledore's eyes in what is otherwise Albus' face. It's a little scary, at times. Amber is a passionate color, invoking love, strength, and luck, but it is also the eyeshade of predators like the wolf and the eagle. Small wonder that Ariana's such a terror when she's in the mood – and sweeter than clover honey when all is going her way._

When I had returned from my thoughts to the living world, I found Ariana in Albus' lap, both of them in a squashy armchair that bore all the markings of one Albus had conjured.

_He is remarkably good at that._

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" Robertson said from behind me.

_Oh. I must have spoken aloud._

"He's got a gift, that one." She paused. "A gift for inspiring us all to be nothing but our best."

"He was like that in school, too."

"Was he now? Most of the boys about your age I know of would hate to be here, week after week after week, caring for a sister most had given up all hope on."

"No, not all. Not Albus, not Aberforth." I shook my head, making my beard wag a bit.

_I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Long beards – there's no escaping it, this counts as a long beard – aren't especially fashionable at the moment._

I shook myself mentally.

_What care I what others think of me? I care only for Albus' opinions, nothing more, and nothing less, for the simple reason that my being is his and his being is mine._

By the time Albus and I left St Mungo's for home a few hours later, dusk had fallen. We had both been drawn into various activities, including a 'tea party' with a number of her dolls and stuffed toys, each of us reading aloud to Ariana in turns, and then having supper with her, to her delight.

_We may not be able to hold onto our childhood, but this – sharing time with children – seems to come close. I'm not all that great with children of any age, but Albus is exemplary. He will make an excellent professor._

_I should probably tell him that. He never thinks well enough, highly enough, of his achievements._

-------------------------------

_15 December 1898_

-------------------------------

I walked along Loy Alley, glancing at the decorations shopkeepers had put up for Christmas. An angel here, a wreath of evergreen and holly there – wherever I turned, I could see the spirit of Christmas cheer. In one shop's window front, I saw the cover of my first book – now called_ The Alchemist _– decorated with one of Henry Raterman's paintings.

_I would never have thought of Henry as a painter. I was quite surprised when his name showed up the _Daily Prophet, _in the Arts pages, and his paintings' showing at the Wizarding Galleries in London, of all places._

_It was quite kind of him to put one of his paintings on the book jacket. Perhaps I ought to have him over for tea, to thank him in person…_

In another shop, a bubbling, frothing potion caught my eye. Its deep red shade did not look like any potion I had seen before, but rather like –

_Blood. Like the dragon's blood that Albus is working with at this very moment, if old Nicolas Flamel didn't give him the afternoon off._

I walked into a little grocery shop decorated with apples and spices, and smelling of sweet, wholesome things. The old witch at the counter smiled at me, and greeted me warmly.

"Hello, madam," I said. "What would you recommend for a late lunch?"

"I'd get one of these ham-and-Swiss-cheese sandwiches – made 'em myself, you know. If you're looking for an adventure, I'd look to those," she pointed a gnarled finger to a pile of small boxes, stacked messily next to a bowl of hard candies.

I picked one up. It was shaped oddly, its bottom like a cube, and its top face a pyramid. The box was painted in blue and red stripes, but bore no name – just a little insignia, a stylized sugarcane and flame. "What is it?" I asked.

"They're newfangled candies, made by a man called Bertie Bott. He calls 'em _Every Flavor Beans_."

"Every flavor?"

"Seems so, from what my customers tell me. Peppermint, chocolate, and butterscotch – but there's spinach, liver, and tripe, and you can never tell what's what."

I shrugged.

_Albus would like it – that element of mystery appeals to him. I'd rather know what I'm putting in my mouth._

"I'll take the candy, madam. How much do I owe you?"

"Fifteen Knuts."

I paid her. "My thanks, madam."

"Don't mention it, lad. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas."

I left the store, heading back to the Apparition point.

_Maybe I could see if Master Flamel gave Albus the afternoon off. Albus and I could go to that little pub in Pentraeth, and have a bit of a chat. Since he's been working with Flamel, I haven't got as much time to just sit and talk with him as I would like._

_Later…_

"What do you mean, he's not here?"

"Exactly what I said, man." Nicolas Flamel poked me in the chest with one thick, knobby finger. "You're not deaf."

"Did Albus say where he was going?"

"Out, just out. He also said that if a man by the name of John Abrams came here, looking for him, that he would be at home by three in the afternoon."

"Bother."

Flamel's face lost its gruffness. "I take it you are he?" he said kindly.

"Yes, I am."

"Come in then," Flamel moved so that I could get in the front door. "I'd like to have a spot of lunch with you, see who you are for myself."

_What does he mean by that?_

I entered anyway.

He laughed, a warm sound that echoed in the great hall. My eyes looked anew on the old man. Flamel wasn't a small man by any means, but I was taller than he by a few inches. The old alchemist had a slight paunch, but his cheeks were rosy, and I noted that he had more laugh lines around his mouth than frown marks on his forehead.

_It seems that I had misjudged him. Dotty and gruff he might be, but old Nicolas Flamel is of a kinder sort than most I meet._

"Albus says much about you, you know," Flamel said as he hung my cloak up on a hook. "Hardly ever speaks for himself, or about himself, but he does talk about you."

I found myself speaking automatically, my mind to busy taking in the grand open space of Flamel's home. A portrait here, a bust of a man long dead there – it spoke of history, of a past still living in the present, through this man and his wife.

"Does he?" I said, my eyes moving from the elaborate marble columns to Flamel's face.

"_Ja_, he does." The twinkle in Flamel's eyes was blinding. "He admires your cooking, and says that your tea is delicious. I can only hope that old Flopsy can make biscuits to match yours."

I felt my cheeks redden a bit.

_Albus, you and your big mouth…_

"Come, come!" Flamel clapped his hands. "Tell me, how did you meet my apprentice?"

I hurried to catch up with his quick stride, Flamel leading me on. "Albus and I met on the train in our first year," I said. "All the compartments were full but mine, and I think he was getting a little desperate for a place to sit."

"Oh?"

"His father had just been thrown into Azkaban, and he wasn't particularly popular."

"Ah. That makes sense."

"He didn't even want me to know his _name_."

"Dear, dear." Flamel brooked a sudden right into a side hallway. I nearly crashed into a pillar when he said, "How long have you two been… together?"

"Wh – _what_?" My voice squeaked.

His voice became icy. "You heard me, man. You aren't deaf." Then, Flamel softened. "How long?"

"Er…" I swallowed nervously. "A year and a few months."

He smiled. "Excellent, excellent."

_Excellent?_

Flamel laughed at my confused silence. "You thought I would be… intolerant, so to speak?"

"Yes, sir, to say the least."

"I have gotten to like Albus. I won't throw him out because the one he loves is a man."

_Well, that's good._

"No, no, no," he continued, quick as finger-snaps. "I care little for the personal lives of my apprentices. Did you know that one of the Roman Emperor Hadrian's loves was a young man named Antinous?"

"No, I didn't."

"And it is said that the great Italian Leonardo da Vinci took two of his apprentices as lovers. Oh, it was a great scandal, in that day and age."

"Oh." I felt my face flush. "Oh my."

Flamel chuckled. "Oh my, indeed. Oh, it was grand. I wasn't there, of course, but I heard about it from a few of my contacts – fellow alchemists – in Milan and Rome." A pause. "What of Herman Bang?"

"I am unfamiliar with that name."

"He has published a great many books – however, they're all in his native Danish. T'is a good thing I picked up a few languages in my time on this earth. Have you ever picked up a copy of _Der __Eigene_?"

"_Der _what? I'm afraid my German is a little rusty…"

"_Der Eigene, _and no matter. It's a homosexual periodical, run by a German man named Adolf Brand."

I was having a hard time keeping up with the old man. He had a sprightly stride, and knew where we were going; trying to stay next to him without running was a challenge, even more so when I was trying to pay attention to his words.

"You seem to be very knowledgeable, Master Flamel."

"Perhaps because I am. I have lived for more than five hundred years, dear boy, remember that. I've had an awful lot of time to read."

I smiled. "I'm sure."

A pause stretched on.

_Wait a minute…_

"Did Albus tell you?"

"Hmm? Tell me what, Mr Abrams?"

_You are loving every minute of this, aren't you, Flamel?_

"That we are, effectively, married?"

Flamel chuckled. "No, he didn't have to – not with words, anyway. The look on his face whenever he pronounced your name was enough to tell me you were more than just friends, best friends, or even just roommates."

_Ah._

"Ah. That makes sense."

_And he said he was being cautious._

"I wouldn't worry about anyone else figuring it out," continued Flamel. "I only recognized love – true love, at that – for what it was because I have been around for a very, very long time, and have seen a long succession of apprentices with the same looks on their faces when they spoke the names of their beloved ones."

"That makes even more sense."

"Good, good."

_Good indeed. Now I don't have to argue with Albus about being more discreet._

_Later…_

I was relaxing in the sitting room when the little cuckoo clock chimed five o' clock.

_Where on earth is Albus? He usually would have told me if he was going to be gone, and always if he was going to be gone for this long…_

At that moment, the front door creaked open, and then slammed shut.

_This isn't like him, not one bit. Something has gone terribly wrong._

"Albus?" I called. "Albus?"

He walked in, outwardly cheerful. "John!" he exclaimed. "How was your day?"

"It was excellent. I had a late lunch with Master Flamel."

Albus' face fell.

_Oh dear._

"Were you going to try to hide your afternoon from me?"

_This is worrisome. More worrisome than his absence._

"Yes," he said baldly. "I didn't want you to come with me to… where I was. Now, I am doubly glad you didn't go, though half of me wanted your company." He laughed bitterly. "Probably my better half."

_This does not bode well._

"Where were you?" I smelled salt on Albus' clothes, sea salt – and something more upsetting. "You seem like something had you crying, Albus."

"With good reason." He collapsed onto the couch beside me with a shuddering sigh. "I visited my father in Azkaban, John."

_I cannot have heard that right._

"You were what?"

"Visiting my father in Azkaban."

_Azkaban? What on earth made him go there? His father, perhaps, but Percival Dumbledore has been all right without Albus for seven years._

"What prompted this?"

"I haven't seen him in seven years, John. I had so much I wanted to tell him… my OWL scores, my NEWTs… and about you, most of all."

"Me?"

_What?_

"You, my best friend. You, who stood by me even when Elphias faltered. You, who loves me for who I am, not for some idealized version of me."

_Albus, you have a talent for saying seemingly just sentimental things with the full force of meaning behind your words. People will call you a sentimental fool one day, I'm sure – but there's nothing foolish about it when it is meant._

"Ah."

"Anyway, I wanted Father to at least hear from me… And, I suppose, I just wanted to see him. A little boy's wish."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not, old friend."

"You are too kind."

_No, I'm not. You are kinder than I – but I cannot make you see that._

"What happened, Albus?"

"I arrived at Azkaban by about one o' clock. Dementors surrounded me, thinking I was a new prisoner. I summoned all my strength, and my best memories, and fought them off."

_Good for you, old friend._

"This sounds all right so far."

"It hasn't gotten too terrible yet. I walked up the stairs to Azkaban's gates. Four hundred steps – the Iron Stairs, they call it. I'll never forget it." Albus shuddered. "The winds howling, the prisoners yelling, chains jangling, the handrails shaking in the storm… what a racket! That sound will haunt me for a very long time."

I put my arm around Albus' shoulder, feeling the rough wool of his traveling cloak and the shivers that racked his body.

_Whatever comfort I can offer you, old friend, take it. You held me when I needed it most, and now I return the favor._

_I wish I hadn't needed to, though._

"My father's cell was on the far side of the compound. He's not considered a threat to his guards, so they don't guard him as much as they do other prisoners." He shivered. "I know now what they meant."

_Oh no._

"What did they mean?"

"That he was insane. That the Dementors had destroyed his mind."

I could not think of anything to say that could comfort Albus.

"I saw him, John. His hair was long and matted, and his beard was ragged – torn up, as if he had pulled out some of the hairs in his madness. I could see his ribs through his rags – rags that passed for clothing. He gibbered like a baby when he saw me."

_That doesn't sound like a good sign._

"I said, 'Father! Father!' but he didn't answer. His blank eyes – amber orbs that I remember being so bright – saw me, but his being isn't there anymore." Albus coughed. "It scared me more than I like to admit."

"I can see why, just from your words."

"I loved my father, John. He was kind, he was happy; he laughed more easily than he frowned. The… the _thing_ that I saw at Azkaban was a rude mockery of him." Tears streamed down Albus' face and into his beard. "He loved me, and told me so every day. Today, his body saw only another living thing, not his firstborn son."

A pause stretched on.

_I have to say it. Damn._

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the memories that gave me my strength – and yet tormented me in the dark of the night.

"I never loved my father," I finally said. "He was a cruel and sadistic man. He was… not kind to my mother, nor to me. I don't know what made me so horrible in his sight, nor do I ever wish to know, but he spoke of nothing but fire and death while he preached from the pulpit. He condemned love, thinking it weak; he embraced cruelty, thinking it to be strength.

"My mother was a weakling, who knelt before Christ and the saints, while living in fear of my father's anger, of his fist and boot. For her, the Almighty always wore my terrible father's face. She was no mother to me. She never held me to her, or stood in my father's way when he had taken too much of the bottle.

I swallowed hard. "I never knew love, even if I had wonderful Uncle Albert, until I met you, and your family, Albus."

He laughed softly. "I never saw my family as all that great of a role model for love."

"But they are," I insisted. "Your mother is more of a mother figure to me than my own. My father – may daemons torment him – was nothing like yours."

_I think I would have liked your father. This grief tears at me too, old friend._

Albus roughly wiped the tears from his face. "He is nothing he was."

"Isn't he? The old Percival Dumbledore lives on in your memory, Albus, and in your family's. He lives in you, Albus."

He gave a watery chuckle. "That sounds almost too poetic to be true."

I laughed. "Perhaps. But it is true – Percival Dumbledore might be insane now, but he wasn't always like that, and you remember what he was like. Those memories are still part of him, I'd bet, just buried, because the Dementors have tormented him for so long."

"You – you really think so?"

_No. But it's what you need to hear._

"Of course."

_Not._

Albus wiped the tears from his face. "I wanted you by my side when I saw him," he said. "I think… he knew some part of me was missing."

"Oh?"

"That part was – is – you."

"Now who's being poetic?"

"It's still true. Neither of us is complete without the other."

"Agreed." I pulled myself up off the couch. "In the mood for some soup?"

Albus' face perked up. "Is it your beef and vegetable?"

"Of course."

"Did you remember the bay leaf?"

"Always, and only for you."

-------------------------------

_16 December 1898_

-------------------------------

_I huddled in a corner, tears streaming down my face. From below me, through the floorboards, I could hear my parents in one of their arguments._

"_Why do you coddle him so, Louise!?" My father shouted, his voice slurred both by the alcohol he had imbibed and the distance between his voice and my ears. "He is weak – weak! He cannot defend himself from the other boys at the gymnasium. I saw his black eye. How can I face the fathers of those other boys, when they beat my son with impunity? He cannot fight back! He is a shame of my flesh!"_

"_Why do you torment him, Nicholas?" my mother said, just loud enough for me to hear. "Why make him to be something that God does not give him?"_

_I heard the sound of a slap, and a yelp. "Don't you contradict me!" my father roared._

_There was a pause, the sounds of liquid sloshing from a bottle barely audible._

"_He is weak," my father said, more softly than before. "If he cannot face the temptations and torments of this world, how can he face the damnation and fire and demons of the next? If he cannot defend himself against a few boys, how can he fight for God and country?"_

"_He did fight back," I heard my mother whisper._

_Silence._

"_Come again?" he said._

"_I said, Nicholas, he did fight back. One of the boys – the one who gave him that black eye – has bruises all over his face. John says that he doesn't know what happened. One moment, he was on the ground, the next, he was on his feet, and the boys were running away."_

_Silence._

"_Only once," my father said. "Only once did he fight back."_

_A pause._

"_Nicholas, Nicholas, why do you hate him so?"_

"_I cannot understand him." My father muttered. More sounds of liquid slopping. "He is… something other, Louise. Something is off. I believe him to be weak, but…" I heard him stand, and start pacing about the room._

"_What is it?" My mother asked. _

"_I have seen him move objects without touching them. I have seen my son – my son! – heal his wounds faster than is humanly possible. I could have sworn he burned me, the last time I tried to teach him a lesson, but when I took my hand into the light, it was not burnt. What is off with him? I have never known the like of him before."_

_Silence._

"_I have heard him, crying out in the night, for someone to save him, for someone to be his friend." My father said. "He is to be a man. Men need no friends. Men need only allies. How can he survive in the world?"_

_I heard my father's boots click and clack against the floor. "I'm going to bed. God's peace be with you."_

"_And with you," I heard my mother answer._

_I felt tears stream down my face again._

_I stood up, and fumbled for the matches and a candle. I lit the candle, and from it another candle, giving me enough light to see by, to read by._

_I groped for my book de jour – _Hamlet – _and tried to read Act 1, Scene 3. I saw Laertes ask for his fathers' advice._

Is this what I have been looking for?

_I read it again. "'This above all: to thine own self be true /And it must follow, as the night the day /Thou canst not then be false to any man.'" I said aloud. _

Who can I be, if not myself? _I thought. _Father says I am weak, but if not following his will makes me weak, I can see no reason to follow it. He can hurt my body, but not my spirit.

_I heard the click and clack of Father's boots, and his rough hand on my doorknob. "John?" his voice called through the door._

_My chest seized up in fear. I blew out the lights, and put _Hamlet_ back under my pillow._

_My door creaked open. There stood my father – militarily-straight posture, shoes that gleamed even in starlight, black frock coat and grey waistcoat – all were as characteristic of him as his slightly mussed grey hair and sideburns, his beet-red face, and the stench of alcohol on his breath._

"_You need to be punished," he slurred, unbuckling his belt. "You deserve to be punished, for failing me, your family, and God."_

_I remembered screaming before all went black._

-------------------------------

I sat up, immediately wide-awake. Sweat beaded on my brow, and I breathed as if I had just run a country mile.

Albus pulled himself from sleep beside me. "Wuzzigoingon?"

"Nothing, Albus." I said, panting. "Just a nightmare."

"Well, that's not nothing." He fumbled for his glasses on his bedside table. "That's something."

"I've had them since I was young," I said, trying to mollify him. "I can deal with it."

"Yes, I'm sure you can, but something tells me that it'll go smoother if I'm dealing with it too."

Starlight twinkled in from the windows, and the small clock by my bedside read 2:16 AM.

"Albus, go back to sleep. You need it, so that you won't blow up anything at Master Flamel's tomorrow."

"We're writing up reports tomorrow. There's nothing for me to blow up." He wrapped an arm around my shivering form. "Now, tell me what you can about this nightmare."

I gulped in air, air laden with Albus' warm scent of rosemary, tea, and dusty books. "It wasn't just a nightmare. It was a memory."

"A memory of what?"

Silence.

_I don't want to burden Albus with this. It is a horrible memory for me; how much more horrible would it be for him, who has never known abuse from his father?_

"My father, Albus. I was nine at the time… a few of the boys at my gymnasium decided to beat on me. My father found out, but he was mad at me for not defending myself rather than them for harming his only son. He spent too much time in the bottle, I think, on a daily basis, but on this night he drank even more than usual." I took a deep breath. "He took his anger out on me."

Albus sucked in a breath. I looked up from my blanket to his eyes. I found compassion there, and love.

_He suffers with me. Maybe that is what the true lover does – suffers and rejoices with their other half, as neither exists without the other._

I saw Albus' tears drip onto the blanket. He hugged me to him.

"How did you survive?" he asked croakily. "How did you become the wonderful person you are in that place, with _that_ for a father?"

"I knew nothing else," I muttered. "I survived because I did not know that anyone else was raised differently. But who I am lies not in my survival, Albus, but in my being saved."

"Being saved?"

"From what I might have been. Cold, heartless, compassionless, greedy, and just as stuck in the bottle as my father was. You saved me from that, Albus; you and whatever fate that gave me magic saved me."

Silence.

"You speak of being saved," he said. "You should also speak of saving."

_What?_

"What do you mean?" I maneuvered myself so that my eyes and Albus' were level. I saw a myriad of emotions in his eyes, from love and compassion to fear and suffering.

"I mean that I could also have been cold and unfeeling, merciless and spiteful as you say you could have been." He took a deep breath, and looked away. "My father going to Azkaban affected me more than I care to admit. I was a lot like Aberforth is now when he left, and I would have been like that, even now, had you not entered my life."

Silence.

"Well, this is a maudlin conversation," I said laughingly. "D'you want to go back to sleep, or would you care for some tea?"

He smiled wanly. "I'll go back to sleep. You go and have your tea, though."

I got up, pulling on a sweater as I did.

_Thank you, whatever God or gods that might be, that sent Albus into my life. What would I be without him? Would I even exist? Certainly not in the way I am now. Thanks to you, thanks to you._

The stars shone outside the kitchen windows. It might have been my smudged glasses, but I could have sworn that two – two close to the Moon – glowed all the brighter in that moment.

-------------------------------

_18 December 1898_

-------------------------------

I sat in the library, Thomas Hobbes' _Leviathan_ on my lap. The morning light shone on the pages with a warmth I would never have thought possible for such a cold day.

_If I don't look out the window, I might even believe it is June. But, it's Yuletide, and the snow outside the windows has piled up a few feet deep. No robins here, not yet. In Italy, maybe._

Elaine jumped onto the windowsill, batting at the falling snowflakes through the glass. I laughed.

_A lovely day indeed._

A knock pulled me from my thoughts.

_Who could that be?_

I rose, putting _Leviathan _lovingly on the table beside my chair, and hurried to the door. Whoever was knocking, they were nothing if not very insistent.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" I called to the door. "Just a moment!"

I opened the door to see a Wizardly-looking man, with hair the shade of sand, and bright brown eyes. A thick maroon scarf hid most of his face, but his jovial voice was unmistakable. "Why, hullo, John!"

"Henry!" I laughed, ushering him in. "Raterman, you old scoundrel, what are you doing here?"

"What? Don't you have any liking for me?"

I scowled playfully. "You're a friend to me, Henry, and you know it."

"Yes, I do, but I do so like to rile you up." Henry's shedding of his scarf and overcoat revealed a bushy moustache and a brightly colored waistcoat.

"I've forgotten my manners!" I said, hurrying off to the sitting room. "Go on, sit down, and make yourself comfortable – I'll be out with the tea in a moment."

"Take your time," he called. "I'm in no hurry."

"Oh, good."

_I wonder what Henry has to say that had him come here. I was thinking about having him over for tea, and now here he is! I'm thinking it has to do with his paintings… does he need a backer? With the MacArthur fortune, I can certainly afford it._

_Ah, I'm just clueless. I'll just listen, then, to what he has to say._

I brought the service to the table. "You take it black, am I right?"

"You are." Henry smiled. "I'm surprised you know that."

"Henry, we shared a little room for seven years. You talk in your sleep, and I'm an insomniac. Need I elaborate further?"

Henry laughed. "No, no. At least you make your explanations amusing."

"I'm glad you think so." I stirred sugar and milk into my tea. "So, what's on your mind?"

"Lots of things."

"I meant, anything in particular?"

Henry leaned back in his chair. "My paintings are in high demand. I'm enjoying a good deal of publicity, but I'm not in a position to reap much benefit from it."

I raised an eyebrow, and sipped at my tea. "What can I – or Albus – do to help?"

"If Albus would be willing and able, I'd like his help in enchanting a few of my portraits."

A pause.

"And I?" I asked.

"I'm not sure how to phrase this…"

"If I may say so, put it bluntly. Running around in oratory circles helps no one to understand you."

Henry's lips twitched. "I need a financial backer, and Gringotts isn't in the habit of financing painters."

"I am in a position to help you. I can give you a loan – interest free – on one condition."

"What's that?"

"Keep my name – and Albus' – out of it."

Henry seemed confused. "You don't want to be publicly known as a backer? You don't want anyone to know that you financed me as an artist?"

"That's not what I'm afraid of."

If anything, Henry looked even more puzzled. "What is it, then?"

"Henry, what are the laws with people like Albus and I?"

Comprehension dawned. "You don't want to be carted off to the asylum, or worse."

"Worse. Wizards have no compunction about killing those with deviant natures in their midst, and Muggles are no better. I don't want anything to happen to Albus, or to me."

"What do you mean by deviant nature? I mean, I know that you're homosexual, but why refer to it that way?"

I stared into Henry's eyes for a long moment. Seeing only real questioning, I said, "Have you ever read Dante's _Inferno_?"

"No, I haven't."

"One of the things Dante speaks about is his nine levels of Hell. The second level is the one relevant to your question."

"Who is on the second level?"

"People who love against the bounds society places on them. People like Tristan and Isolde from Celtic mythology, Romeo and Juliet, and Othello and Desdemona, both couples from Shakespeare's plays… and people like Albus and I."

"I see." Henry swallowed the last of his cup, and poured himself a second. "I'll keep your names out of it, then."

"And I'll ask Albus about the animation." A thought came to me. "Thanks, by the way, for letting me use one of your paintings for the cover of my debut book."

"It wasn't a bother. I'll do it again, if you like."

"I would appreciate that."

A pause.

"I'm glad that we shared a dorm room for seven years, Henry."

"So you could get all sorts of dirty secrets straight from my mouth?"

_I'm amazed he can say that with a straight face._

"No, I'm just happy you're my friend."

-------------------------------

_25 December 1898_

-------------------------------

Albus munched happily on the candies I had given him – Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. "These are quite good," he said. "Delightfully chewy."

"Careful," I cautioned him. "The one who sold them to me said that when they say every flavor, they mean every flavor."

"Oh? The worst one I've gotten so far was dandelion."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you got a bad one soon, like hair or rock."

"Rock?" He laughed around the candy. "Is rock even a flavor of anything?"

"How should I know? I'm not putting stones in my mouth. I'm no Demosthenes."

"Are you sure that's not Democritus?"

"I thought Democritus was the one who did research on the atoms, and Demosthenes was the orator."

"Oh. I wouldn't be surprised if you were right. I always did get them mixed up."

"At least you admit it."

"Well," he shrugged, "my only wisdom is in knowing that I do not know."

_And you will never know how special you are in that, old friend. I could count on hand the people I know of who realized that._

I shrugged and tugged on the sweater Albus had given me. Purple, of course, my favorite color – not that I would ever admit it – and a soft, warm wool weave.

_Albus gives the best of presents. Oh, dear, I hope he doesn't get anything too horrible in the Every Flavor Beans…_

Just then, Albus coughed and sputtered, finally swallowing with an exaggerated effort. "That… that was horrible!" he said, reaching for his mug of hot chocolate.

I raised an eyebrow. "What was it?"

"Vomit," he said without a trace of expression.

"Vomit." I repeated dumbly. "They put in a vomit flavored one?"

"Apparently so."

Silence.

Albus began to snigger.

I grinned.

In no time at all, we were laughing so hard that tears were coming out of out eyes.

"So," I said, "Are you ever eating those again?"

"Maybe in a hundred years."

_Later…_

My hand grasped the familiar goat's head knocker and rapped twice.

"Coming!" hollered Abe's voice from within. A few moments later, the door opened like a popgun to reveal Aberforth Dumbledore, looking freshly scrubbed and entirely out of place in his holiday robes.

_I suppose I am just too used to seeing him in gardener's clothes for those dress robes to look right on his stocky frame._

"Albus!" Abe grinned, shaking his brother's hand enthusiastically. "John!" My own handshake was only slightly less animated, still enough to make me want to check my fingers for fractures.

_Ah, the magic of Christmas; enough to make the grouchiest of people – even a fifteen-year-old Aberforth Dumbledore – become remarkably kind._

"Come in, come in! Mother's in the kitchen, and she needs your help with the biscuits, John…"

I took off my cloak and hat, and hung them up on the now-familiar pegs. "I'll do what I can, Abe, but I'm making no promises…"

"What you can do is all we ask of you," he said, laughing merrily.

_My, Abe's changed, and for the better – or at least better to deal with. I wonder… what did it?_

The Dumbledore kitchen was bright and merry in a way I had never seen. Holly and ivy and boughs of fir were strung up everywhere, and the smell of cinnamon and cooking roast and garlicky potatoes filled the air.

_This is far more like Christmas than the stiff, formal holiday at my parent's house._

"John!" Mrs Dumbledore exclaimed. "Come, come – help me with these biscuits, if you would."

"Of course, Mrs Dumbledore." I pulled on an apron. Mixing dough with my hands, I asked, "Aberforth is remarkably jolly today."

"Yes, he is. He seems under so much less stress than he – or, for that matter, I – was under when Ariana still lived here full-time."

"He seems like someone much easier to be around."

"He is. He's not so much like an angry griffin, guarding its gold, not anymore."

I looked around the kitchen

_There are an awful lot of potatoes for four people here… Who else has Mrs Dumbledore invited to Christmas Dinner?_

"Mrs Dumbledore?"

"Yes, lad?"

"Who else is eating with us?"

"Oh, yes, I quite forgot to tell Albus – Bathilda Bagshot and her great-nephew will be joining us."

My heart turned to ice with but that one simple statement. It rang in my ears, and in my heart.

_Gellert Grindelwald._

_Something tells me this will not end well._

"Gellert has been most anxious to meet you – even if he's already met Albus, I think you three will have plenty to talk about."

_Maybe I am just being prejudiced. I have never even met Grindelwald; I have no right to judge him only on Albus' gut feelings. Even if Albus' gut is usually right._

There came a heavy _rap-rap-rap _at the door, giving me no further time to think about it.

"Abe, get it please, it's probably Mrs Bagshot and Gellert!" Mrs Dumbledore called.

Abe answered, his feet shuffling off towards the door. "Yes, Mum!"

The muttering noises of greeting came to my ears.

"Where is your friend, Albus? Your mother said…"

"John is in the kitchen, Mrs Bagshot."

"Thank you, lad."

The noise of scuffling feet followed – two pairs of feet.

The first to enter the kitchen was a woman of about sixty years. Her most striking feature was her light brown eyes, eyes that held no duplicity. The second –

_It is indeed the one that haunted my nightmares, not two years past._

Gellert Grindelwald was only a little taller than Aberforth, and only came up to my chin. His long, curly blond hair was tied back with a ribbon, giving him an aristocratic air. It was his eyes, though, a bright, arresting green, that held my attention.

_Superficially, they are rather pretty – but Albus was right. He has no compassion, no sense that there is anything deserving of being but himself._

Mrs Dumbledore spoke first. "Bathilda, Gellert, this is John Abrams, a… _friend_ of Albus'. John, this is Bathilda Bagshot, and her great-nephew Gellert Grindelwald."

"My pleasure," I said, "I'm afraid shaking hands might not be the best of ideas…" I still had biscuit dough on my fingers.

"No matter," Mrs Bagshot said, her eyes smiling but otherwise blank.

"It isn't a problem," Grindelwald said, his eyes glinting with a malevolent intelligence.

_He is smart enough to see there is something more between Albus and I than just friendship. I'd better be on my guard, and so had Albus._

Albus entered, smiling widely. "Well, isn't this grand!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Mrs Bagshot, Mr Grindelwald – "

"Gellert, if you please," he interjected.

"Gellert, then, I've got some refreshments in the sitting room for you…"

"All right, dear," Mrs Bagshot said. "I do hope you have some more of that gin I so enjoyed last year."

"I'm sure we do, ma'am."

Gellert followed Albus' movements with an eye I did not like.

_It's not attraction of the kind I'd worry about, but something is up with this one. Is he just trying to figure Albus out? Whatever it is, it's giving me the creeps._

Albus must have sensed it too, for his eyes met Gellert's. A tense moment passed, and Gellert looked away.

They left for the sitting room, leaving me alone again with Mrs Dumbledore.

"You feel it too," she said. It was not a question.

"What do you mean?"

"You feel that malevolent aura around Gellert."

"I know what I didn't see – compassion in his eyes. He scares me, more than I'd care to admit."

"I can't help but feel that knowing him isn't going to help this family." She whispered, but her emotions leaked into her, admittedly vicious, peeling of potatoes.

Silence.

"Albus knows."

She raised an eyebrow. "How can you tell?"

"Gellert's eyes followed his every move in here. Albus felt it, and stared right back."

"Albus… Albus is a great man, John, a great wizard. But can he stand up to someone as brilliant as Gellert Grindelwald?"

I had no doubts. "Yes."

"What makes you so sure?"

"He's my equal, Mrs Dumbledore. He's my confidant, and partner in all things. If he cannot face the likes of this wizard alone, it doesn't matter, for I am always at his side." I turned so that my eyes bored into hers. "We face everything together, Mrs Dumbledore. Why would I leave him to face Gellert alone?"

She was very quiet for a moment. Then, she said, "I knew you and Albus were in love," she said, "but this is all the confirmation I needed that it would last."

_She needed any?_

"Go on," she said, smiling. "I can manage well enough alone. Go in the sitting room. Keep Albus company, if nothing else."

"All right." I washed all the biscuit off my hands, removed my apron, and brushed at my beard thoughtfully.

The sitting room was just as decorated as the kitchen, with fir hanging off every available surface – even Albus' beloved bookshelves.

_Abe and Mrs Dumbledore really outdid themselves._

"John!" Albus called to me, grinning. "My mum through you out of the kitchen?"

"No, she said I ought to keep you company."

Albus poured me a little of something sweet and definitely alcoholic. "What this?" I asked, sipping at it. "It's good."

"Apple brandy from Spain – calvados. And, yes, it's good."

"So, John," Gellert's German-accented voice asked, "How do you make your living?"

I turned around to find his eyes staring into me. "I'm a writer," I said, gazing into his eyes. "My first book was published only a few weeks ago."

He turned away. "What about you, Albus?"

Albus smiled. "I'm apprenticing under Nicolas Flamel, both in Potions and in Transfiguration."

"Amazing. You must haff great talent."

"So he says."

"And humble too. Amazing."

_Does he ever blink? At least he won't stare at me any longer – I must have put him off somehow. I can't say that I really miss the attention._

"Do you know if you will be going to Hogwarts when term starts again, Gellert?" I asked, hoping to turn the conversation onto him, rather than Albus, or I.

"I do not. Hogwarts has not contacted me, though I haff sent the Headmaster a letter on that subject, last week."

Silence.

"What's your book about, John?" Mrs Bagshot asked.

"It's a fiction book called _The Alchemist. _You can find a copy in Flourish and Blotts."

"I'll look into it. I usually prefer poetry, and books like Charles Dickens'_ Tale of Two Cites _or the wizard Silvanus Fordham's _Something Wicked_, but I'll try it."

"Nice to hear, Mrs Bagshot."

Silence.

"Who's up for some carols?" Albus asked. I could hear the false cheer in his voice, but I don't think even his mother would have been able to.

"Do you haff _Stille Nacht_?"

"Silent Night? Of course! You can sing it in German, if you like, Gellert."

"I'll listen to you boys sing," Mrs Bagshot said. "I'm afraid my voice has never been good, and has become worse of late."

"What's this about singing?" Abe asked, walking in the door.

"How about a few carols, Abe?"

"Albus, you know I sing far worse than a frog in a bucket."

"Frog in a bucket?" Gellert asked blankly.

Albus smiled. "It doesn't literally mean anything, Gellert, just that Abe can't sing very well."

"Ach, now it makes sense."

"That's good. Now, shall we sing?"

_Later…_

We enjoyed ourselves caroling that night, singing not only Silent Night but God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, We Three Kings, O Come All Ye Faithful and the Sussex Carol.

Gellert had a good bass, and Albus' and my tenor voices made for some nice harmony. Gellert, in fact, lost all hint of malevolence in his eyes and features, leaving me a little confused.

_Was my first impression wrong? Gellert might be a little odd, but then, so am I, and I'm no psychopath. I can't help but feel something is more than a little off with him, but I can't tell what it is._

Dinner was a sumptuous affair, with not only mashed potatoes, roast beef, and steamed cabbage, but treacle tart and puddings of all sorts. Conversation was light, polite, and generally meaningless; I could glean no more from Gellert about his past, or why he had left Durmstrang.

_I might as well resign myself to never knowing. Gellert clearly doesn't want to talk about it, and I see no reason to anger him unnecessarily. _

After the meal, and coffee, Albus and I prepared to leave. I was wrapping my silvery scarf around my neck when Gellert asked, "Might I have a word with you?"

I followed Gellert to the hallway between the sitting room and the kitchen. I asked, "What's on your mind?"

"What is there between you and Albus?"

_Ah. He does see it, then. I thought he might._

"There is much between Albus and I," I said nonchalantly. "What do you want to know?"

Gellert's eyes narrowed. In them I saw the beast I had first believed him to be.

_I was right, then._

"Are you, or are you not, homosexuals?"

Silence.

"Why do you want to know?"

"That is all the answer I need." Gellert stood up the straighter. "You are… lovers."

Silence.

"You might say that. Or you might say that it is none of anyone else's business what gender I happen to love, or whom the object of my affections is."

Gellert stared into my eyes. I stared right back, the steel showing in my grey eyes, and the green in his glowing like a viscous poison.

He looked away first. When he spoke, I could hear the hatred in his voice. "One day, I will remove you from the earth. You are not worthy of existing in the _Reich, _or in the _Welt_. No better than _Juden_ or _Roma_ or _Polen_. You will all perish."

I stared at him, my suspicions confirmed.

"Why?"

"You are subversive to society – antisocial, like Communists and _Juden. _Ask 'Why should I live?' rather than 'Why should I die?'"

_I knew something was off about him. Now I know – he is more full of hate than anyone I've ever met._

"You and all those who share your blood will perish one day. I only hope I am there to see it." He turned his back on me, preparing to leave me.

"Gellert." I said, making him stop. He looked over his shoulder at me. "You will fall from your tower one day, and I hope I am there pushing on it."

I left him there, in the hallway, struck as dumb as if I had Petrified him (I hadn't).

_Has it never occurred to him that there are moderates out there that balk at the thought of killing people? Apparently not._

I didn't speak on my way out, other than to say a few polite goodbyes to Mrs Dumbledore and Mrs Bagshot.

The words of the prophecy unbidden returned to my mind.

_**The one with the power to remake the world comes… Heir of Merlin's blood, heir to power not seen in generations… Society will revile him, as they do all that are his like… He shall fight back, and destroy all those that hate him, leaving only the pure of intent and heart… Only the love of his equal can save him from destroying the world utterly… and in the attempt to create the world, both he and his love must perish to what they were to become that which they could be… The one with the power to remake the world comes…**_

_I suppose Gellert Grindelwald falls under the category of 'all those that hate him.' Or, rather, me._

-------------------------------

_27 December 1898_

-------------------------------

_On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, two turtledoves and a partridge in a pear tree… Well, not turtledoves, exactly._

"Albus, is… is this for me?"

The morning sun winked on his face as he chuckled. "Who else do I know that would actually appreciate a typewriter?"

My hands caressed the beautifully intricate machine. "It's wonderful."

"I thought you'd say that."

He kissed me before saying, "I've got to get to Master Flamel's; we're working with basilisk venom today and he needs my help to prevent poisoning himself, or worse."

"Worse? No, I don't want to know. You go ahead, Albus. I'll be all right here."

"You're sure? I've got a bad feeling…"

A chill came over me – and not from the December weather.

_Albus' gut feelings are never wrong. They weren't wrong about Henry, or Edward, or Elphias, or Gellert Grindelwald. Something's up._

"Well, what else is your gut telling you?"

"You know my senses for divination aren't that specific."

"Well, who else could it be?"

"Henry's at his studio, painting, Elphias is off in India somewhere…"

A pause.

_Oh no._

"What about your mother, and Abe, Albus?"

Albus looked stricken. "From what he told you..."

"Albus, what are you talking about?"

"Grindelwald. ' You and all those who share your blood will perish one day.'"

I shivered. "You think he means your family? Now?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Albus shook his head, making his beard wag. "I think I need to check, though."

I stood up. "I'm going with you."

"But – but what if something's happened?"

"Then you need me more than ever, as a spare wand or as a shoulder to cry on." I tugged at his sleeve. "Come on, let's go."

We pulled on our scarves and our cloaks in record speed, and were out the door and Apparating in only a few moments.

We arrived silently, but, given the state of wreckage that greeted us, it wouldn't have mattered if we had arrived with elephantine booms. The Dumbledore home was utterly destroyed. Only a few beams remained of the roof; only a burned-out shell remained of the barn where Abe's beloved goats were kept.

_Oh no._

Albus ran into what was left of the house, crying out for his family. "Mum! Abe!" he yelled, over and over again. "_Ayekha_! Where are you?"

I followed him, only a little slower.

_Pleasedon'tbedead-Pleasedon'tbedead-Pleasedon'tbedead-Pleasedon'tbedead-_

I heard a gasp from Albus, and then his sobbing.

_Oh no._

I found Albus in what remained of the sitting room where I had sung songs with a person I now believed to be a murderer not two nights earlier.

He stared at the bodies of his mother and brother. Both pairs of eyes, identical sunny blue eyes, were open, as if in fear when they died. They had been tied up, and neither had their wands.

I found tears rushing to my eyes.

_No! They are Albus' family! They are untouchable – but not to Gellert Grindelwald. Not to the like of his hate._

Albus knelt, sobbing. "Mum – Mum – Abe – Abe, brother – "

I held Albus to my chest, and kept him there, until the Aurors arrived. Gellert Grindelwald, of course, was nowhere to be found.


	4. Chapter 4

Old Friends

--

_Being very, very intelligent might create some problems and it has done for Dumbledore, because his wisdom has isolated him… where is his equal, where is his confidant, where is his partner? _

_**JKR in an interview**_

--

Part IV

--

_31 December 1898_

--

It broke my heart to sit there in the pew, beside Albus. We were dressed all in black, not the bright colors we were accustomed to. But then, everything seemed strange nowadays.

_Is this just the vertigo of being turned topsy-turvy?_

Albus' face was stony, the bags under his eyes and his deathly pallor almost making me think he, himself, was dead –

_Just like Aberforth and Mrs Dumbledore._

He had cried for a whole day and a whole night after we discovered their bodies. I worried about his well-being; he had spoken little and eaten even less.

_But what can I do? No one so close to me has ever died before, except Uncle Albert – and he died while I was at school; I didn't even know he was dead until my mother told me over the holiday._

_My parents were not parents to me. My father was a horrible, bitter man, and my mother was a cold weakling. If I hadn't met Mrs Dumbledore, I probably would still doubt the power of love. Their deaths didn't mean much to me. I might not hate them, but I hold no love for them._

Albus gave a deep, shuddering sigh, but didn't say anything. I offered him my hand, and he took it.

_The only one I love is the one that sits beside me now._

Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel sat on Albus' other side, wearing their funeral best. Henry Raterman had put in an appearance, taking one look at the two dark coffins and breaking out into tears, before sliding into a pew in the back.

_Had he and Mrs Dumbledore grown close? I hadn't heard of anything…_

Aeneas Weasley – our old Potions professor – had eulogized them. It was only a short speech, for Weasley – his face ashen – had been a very good friend of Mrs Dumbledore in his youth, and he could hardly keep from weeping himself.

My face turned to the grey stillness outside the little shelter some kind soul had thought to put up for the mourners. Snow covered the ground, giving everything a silvery sheen, only aided by the heavy cover of clouds that blocked the sunlight.

Albus quaked, and rose from the pew. He walked outside the small shelter to the gaping holes in the earth – now with the coffins in them – knelt, and threw a clod of dirt in. Tears streamed down his face, down his nose and into his beard.

I could almost hear his thoughts – things along the lines of _I wish you were here now, _and _damn you, Gellert Grindelwald, _and, certainly, _I love you, I love you – why do you leave me now?_

I knew. I was thinking it myself.

But I knew also – in my heart of hearts – that Albus would much rather have had them, and lost them, than never to have had them at all. I, who had never known my parents' love, felt nothing towards them – an empty hollowness.

_There isn't any life in that emptiness._

But those who love us, never truly leave us at all. I'm not sure how I knew that, but  
I did.

_I'm sure Albus does, too._

Albus got up, brushing soil and snow from his robes, and made his way back to the seat. He met my eyes, saying – wordlessly – just how much it meant to him that I was there. Just my presence helped him grieve.

I smiled wanly.

_How could I not, Albus? Your pain is my pain. Anything I can do is worth it to me, a thousand-thousand times over. I love you._

_I would never choose to have it otherwise._

--

_2 January 1899_

--

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Albus?" I asked worriedly.

Albus sighed, brushing at his beard. "No, I'm not sure," he said, "but Ariana needs to know anyway."

St Mungo's was still covered in the décor for the Christmas holidays. Shiny, floating baubles – in gold and silver as well as red and green – bobbed around at about my eye-level. Christmas trees occupied every inch of available floor space, themselves covered in tinsel and glass ornaments.

_Albus, Albus – how can you tell her that her brother and mother are dead? You yourself can't even say it without bursting into tears, as yet!_

Albus' eyes were watering, even now. He wiped at them roughly, and began dragging himself up the main staircase by a sheer effort of will. I followed him, dancing from step to step.

"She can wait until you are ready, Albus –"

"No, John," Albus paused, turning to face me. "I cannot think of myself. She will be confused when Mum –" His voice broke, and he coughed. "When her expected visitors do not come."

_But you must think of yourself, Albus! How does it help her, if you are not ready for this task, that which you set before yourself?_

He strode through the veritable forest of Christmas trees towards Ariana's ward, their branches moving out of his way with but a glance. I, walking right behind Albus, had to elbow them to get the trees to let me pass.

Reaching the door, Albus took a deep breath. I could hear the tremble in his chest when he exhaled, knocking on the door.

Madam Robertson answered the door, a circlet of golden tinsel giving her curly white hair a yellow glow. Her face brightened when she saw Albus and I, and then fell when she saw our dismal expressions.

"Oh, whatever is the matter, dears?" She beckoned us in. "It's the ninth day of Christmas, don't you know!"

"I'm afraid it's all a spot of very bad business, very bad business indeed." I said, watching Albus inch toward Ariana's door out of the corner of my eye.

"Oh, my." The Healer's hand went to her mouth. "Might I ask – "

"You may," Albus croaked. "My mum and brother were murdered six days ago."

Madam Robertson's face lost all color. "Dear God." She sighed. "You're here to tell Ariana, then, I suppose?"

"Yes," I said. Albus just nodded mutely.

The Healer stepped aside, and dropped herself into a chair, her hand covering her eyes.

_Another who will miss you, Mrs Dumbledore, Abe._

Albus opened Ariana's door slowly, not even a creak escaping. I could see her reading something, sitting in the big chair beside her bed –

_The Tales of Beedle the Bard, _again_. They're lovely stories, really, but to read them over and over again…_

"Hello, Ari." Albus whispered. She started, and her eyes instantly fell on Albus.

"Al, Al!" she cooed happily. "Come – read – "

"Ah." She dragged him along by the hand. "Ah, Ariana, there's something – "

"Al, read!" Ariana demanded imperiously, her face scrunching up.

"All right, Ari, all right. Where do I begin, now?"

She pointed somewhere on the pages of her small, stained and well-loved edition.

"All right. The Warlock's Hairy Heart."

I listened to him read to her, and I could almost see – in my mind's eye – all the other times he had read to her. I could see all, from Albus as an eleven-year old, when Ariana had just been diagnosed, to Albus as a teen, his beard barely growing in, to Albus as he was now, with the long beard that today's Ariana loved to tug on.

_I can't believe he lets her tear at his beard like that. But he does, and it's pretty loveable._

_Albus is wonderful with children. I'm terrible with people my own age, much more so those who are younger than I._

He reached the end of the chapter and, lo! Ariana was tugging on his beard. I could see Albus wince.

"Ari?" He took the book from her hands, gently, and turned her around on his lap so that she was facing him.

"Al?" She looked confused.

"Ari, Mum and Abe – "

"Where Mum?" Ariana looked around excitedly.

" – they're like the girl now, the girl in the story –"

"Where Abe, Al?" She looked far younger than her 13 years, far more frail than her small size would suggest, as she sat innocently on Albus' lap.

Albus sighed. "They're gone, Ari. Gone, to a place that they can't come back from."

Ariana looked confused.

"They're dead."

Apparently, the word 'dead' meant something to Ariana.

"No! Not dead! Not dead!"

She shook her head wildly, her hair sticking up in all directions like a mane. Hopping up from Albus' lap, she fell to the floor and proceeded to pound it with her fists.

_Albus is going to need help, if Ariana is going to throw one of her fits._

I moved forward, out of the doorway, pulling my wand from my wrist holder at the same time.

_Oak, eleven inches, and phoenix tail feather._

Albus rose from the chair in a flash, his wand in his hand.

"Mum! Da! Abe! Where you? Where you? Mum!"

Wind whirled, the ground shook, the door slammed shut.

"Ari, Ari, they can't hear you –"

Ariana turned her eyes to him, and he wilted. I could see that they glowed with a power repressed, a power now awakened from its slumber.

"Ari –"

She stood, and Albus was thrown against a wall with an eye-blink.

_Oh no._

Sparks flew from Ariana's fingers. Her hair was a mess of static and wind.

I tried the door. Locked.

_This isn't good._

Albus picked himself up from the floor, tears streaming from his eyes. "Ari, Ari!"

Lightning flashed in the tiny room. Ariana was getting more and more upset, screaming all the more insistently to have Mum and Abe come to her _now – _

_She's going to kill us all if I don't do something._

"STOP!"

Everything went utterly still.

Ariana slumped, and Albus caught her before she hit the ground. "That's my Ari," he murmured, setting her gently in her bed.

Albus stood up straight, and looked me right in the eye.

"_What did you do!?" _He looked more shocked than angry.

I tapped the doorknob to unlock it. "I haven't any idea, Albus! I just thought – "

"It takes four trained healers casting the stunning spell to get her to stop! You didn't even use your wand, John – what did you do?"

We got out into the hallway, heading down the stairs. The Christmas trees bowed before us, seemingly taking care to touch not even our shoes.

_Later…_

Albus was almost frog-marching me up the hill.

"Albus, really, is this necessary?" My foot caught on a stone in the path, and I nearly tripped. "The Flamels have got to be busy – "

"They're not busy enough not to talk to us."

"But – come now, Albus – so I managed to stop Ariana's fit – "

"Which should have been impossible, or at least left you magically drained. You Apparated with ease right after that bit of impossibility, so the magic-draining hypothesis doesn't work."

_I hate it when he makes sense, if only because it means I'm wrong. I don't like being wrong. Even more than I hate getting snow in my drawers._

Before I knew it, we had reached the Flamel's stoop. I tugged my arm out of Albus' grip.

"Sorry about that," he said, flushing a little. "I'm just worried about you, that's all."

I smiled, brushing snow off my robes. "I know, Albus."

He took a deep breath, seemingly gathering his courage, and knocked on the door.

Perenelle Flamel answered it. A small woman, she would have fit neatly under my arm. Her white hair and elfin features lent her an air of fragility, but she was a warrior, I knew.

_There's no one else that armor in the front hall could have been made for – one set for Nicolas, and one just big enough to fit his wife…_

"Albus! John!" she ushered us in, out of the cold. "What brings you here? I thought Nicolas had given you the day off, Albus?"

"He did, but I would like to talk to you both, if you have the time."

"We both would." I added.

She looked between our faces, as if trying to read what, exactly, was bothering us. Then, she smiled. "Of course we have the time, dears. Come, I'll get some tea for us."

Nicolas came bounding out into the front hall. "Perenelle, who-" he stopped as he saw Albus and I. A grin splashed across his face. "Albus! John! I hadn't thought to see you here today." Worry suddenly crossed his features. "Has something gone wrong?"

"Well…" I said, unsure of how to put it. "There's a story that goes with that…"

"And you're not telling it until you've at least had some tea!" Perenelle's voice echoed through the hall.

Nicolas blinked. "I think we'd best follow her."

Albus and I nodded mutely.

When we had arranged ourselves in the Flamel's sitting room, and had taken at least two cups of tea, at Madam Flamel's urging, Nicolas leaned forward in his seat. "Well, you said there was a story to tell."

Albus began, saying, "You know already of Ariana's… condition."

He nodded. "You've mentioned that before, yes. She is hospitalized at St Mungo's, no?"

"That is correct. She occasionally has fits, so to speak, when her magic – normally beyond her reach – is suddenly released. It has a mind of its own, and the fit only passes when Ariana passes out from the exertion, or is stunned by at least four healers at once."

Albus paused, taking another sip of tea.

_He looks terrible. Did he only just now turn the color of ash?_

"John and I went to St Mungo's today, to tell her of… the deaths in the family. But when I told her, she went into one of her fits. She threw me against a wall before I could calm her down." His hands shook, and he had to put his cup down, lest he smash it. "I honestly thought I was going to die, at that moment."

Silence fell.

_I guess it's up to me, then._

"I shouted, STOP! And the fit did – Ariana fell unconscious, Albus picked himself up from where he had fallen, and the lightning and thunder in the room stopped." I spoke slowly, without inflection.

_I still can't believe it. Albus has always been far better than I with wandless magic, yet I managed to quiet the storm, when he could not._

Perenelle sat up straighter in her chair. "You stopped the fit by yourself, John?"

"And without a wand," Albus added. "He Apparated here, too, on his own power."

Nicolas stared into his teacup. "You probably should be dead, with all the magic you used," he said, "but you're not."

"I hope that, when I finally stop breathing, I'll at least notice," I said dryly.

Nicolas smiled wanly. "Yes, you're definitely alive. But _why_ is a much more pressing question."

My eyes met Albus'.

_Should we tell them of the prophecy?_

I said, "I am referenced in a prophecy."

Perenelle blinked. "A prophecy, John?" She looked genuinely surprised. "Just how old is this prophecy?"

"Thirteen centuries old."

Nicolas looked up from his lap, and into my eyes. They were a deep blue, and they bored straight through me – as if only by looking at my eyes, he could find my whole being. Finally, he said, "Merlin's prophecy."

I nodded.

Perenelle's face turned white. "The prophecy that begins with _The one with the power to remake the world comes_?"

Albus said, "Yes."

"Oh my." She looked to me. "You believe it to be yourself?"

"All due respect, but who else could it be, Madam? All others of the Merlinus line died long ago, and the likelihood of my having a child are precisely zero."

Albus took my hand, seemingly lending me his strength.

_Thank you, old friend. What would I ever do without you?_

"My question is," Albus asked, "if this incredible ability to use wandless magic might have been fueled by the prophecy."

Nicolas frowned. "All that the prophecy can tell us is of the existence of one who will destroy and create the world anew. John might posses the qualities the prophecy names, but the prophecy does not make him so."

"I still have a choice, then?" I said, "A choice of whether or not to act on this prophecy?"

Perenelle said, "John, if you are the being the prophecy names, then both your actions and inactions will cause the prophecy to come to be."

I rose from my seat, and began pacing under the window. I could see the snow falling outside, and despite the early hour, the sun was already quite low on the horizon.

"Is there no escape from it, then?" I laughed, feeling it echo hollowly within me. "Is everything I do already foretold? Is my fate shaping what I will become?"

"I don't believe in fate," Nicolas said, coming up behind me, and laying a hand on my shoulder. "You will determine your own destiny, John. All the prophecy does is describe a few aspects of what your life may be like – the prophecy might even never come to be."

I fell silent.

_But what of Gellert Grindelwald? I cannot let him rise. He killed Albus' family, and his hurts are my hurts. I will avenge them, if only for Albus' sake. _

_Albus will not kill Gellert Grindelwald – he lacks any sort of killer spirit. But I know that I could kill Grindelwald – and I will, even if I must die in the deed._

"No," I heard myself say, as if from far off, "no, I think it is already happening."

Albus sat up straighter. "Grindelwald?"

"Yes, I think so. He told me – on the only night that I have ever interacted with him – that people like – us – " I gestured between Albus and I – "and the Jews and Gypsies and Poles are not worthy of existing."

I looked to Nicolas. His face looked empty, almost a mask. "He means death," he said sorrowfully.

"I believe so, yes." I chewed at my lip. "I told him then that, one day, he would fall from his tower – and I only hoped that I was there to be pushing on it."

Perenelle said, "This seems as good a way to spend a life as any – casting down tyrants."

"But this still doesn't explain one thing," Albus said. "Is John more powerful than he might have otherwise been?"

_But does it even matter? I am who and what I am – not even a prophecy can change that._

_I hope._

--

_10 January 1899_

--

_Pop._

I Apparated to the side of a small tenement building. Snow whirled around me, coating my glasses, and making it nigh on impossible for me to see clearly.

"Henry!" I called, squinting upward. "Henry Raterman!"

Muffled noise – sounding a lot like 'busy painting, go away' – emitted from the open fourth-story window.

I scowled. "Raterman, you scoundrel, come out of there this instant!"

The window was thrown open with such force that it rattled against its hinges. Henry's face appeared, bushy moustache twitching. "What could possibly be the problem, John, that could tear me away from my painting?"

"Gellert Grindelwald." I spat out his name, as if it would defile me.

Henry blinked. "Who is he?"

"The one who murdered Abe and Mrs Dumbledore."

Henry sucked in a deep breath. "I'll be right down," he said, and then pulled the window shut with as much force as he had pushed open.

_I thought that might do it. But now I want to know – just how did he know the Dumbledores, other than Albus? I've asked Albus, and he hasn't any clue – but will Henry reveal anything to me? For all his gregarious geniality, Henry is an incredibly solitary person…_

Henry bolted out the front door of the building, still wrapping his scarf around his face. "Tell me everything you know."

"Of the murder?" I started walking down the street, half in an effort to get warm and half in an effort to make sure Henry wouldn't just bolt back into his apartment if I asked a question he didn't appreciate.

He hopped to keep up with my stride. "Yes, the murder – and everything you know of the murderer."

_I've never seen Henry so agitated. What's going on?_

"First, Henry, I want to know something."

Henry turned towards me, face ashen. "And what would that be?"

"Just how well did you know Mrs Dumbledore and Aberforth?"

He sighed, exhaling a cloud of mist. I could see his eyes tearing up. "I was one of Aberforth's better friends, despite our age difference," he said. "Abe was always in Albus' shadow, and… I think, in the beginning, he hung around me just because I was always around Albus."

_This isn't what I was expecting._

Henry continued. "Eventually, we got to talking, and we discovered that we had… mutually pleasing things to talk about. This, in spite of the fact that he much preferred dueling to reasoned discussion; I think my first words to him were curses, after I got hit in a crossfire." He smiled. "He cursed right back, and then apologized. That was Abe's style. He was a talented spell-caster, but not compared to Albus."

"Henry, everybody's dueling is faulty compared to Albus'."

"Except yours," he retorted. "Aberforth was very good at Herbology, you know. An affinity for living things, he said." He smiled wanly. "I always told him that if he really had an affinity for living things, he would be better with people."

_Yes, that's the Aberforth I remember. _

"He never really knew what to say to people," I agreed, "or how to act, so he was just gruff and grumpy all the time. Except Christmas."

I remembered the joyous Abe who had greeted me, that snowy afternoon.

_He's prefer to be remembered that way, I think – nice, not mean._

"Yes, except Christmas. He loved Christmas. He loved his sister, and his mother, and Albus. He even liked you – he told me so. He said, and I quote, 'Albus loves him. That's good enough for me.'"

I stopped walking. "You mean, he knew?"

Henry chuckled. "You didn't think you could keep it from him, did you? Abe might have been a bit dim, and odd, but he could read his own brother better than anyone else could. He figured it out before I did, John."

I sighed. "And here I thought I knew Abe…"

"Does anyone ever truly know another? You and Albus are closer than most, I think, but you're the exception that proves the rule."

"You seem to have known Abe very well."

Henry shook his head. "No, I don't think so. He opened up a little bit to me, but only Mrs Dumbledore could ever have known him entirely. Maybe, if Aberforth had lived – " He choked up then, tears spilling from his eyes.

I patted Henry on the back awkwardly.

_Like Aberforth himself, I don't know how to act around people. It's a good thing that Albus is very, very good at it._

Henry gurgled in spite of himself. "You're lousy with people, you know that? Lousy."

"Tell me something I don't know, my friend."

"I thought I already did."

My lips twitched. "I meant, _another_ something."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Henry grinned.

_At least he has kept his good humor._

"But now that I've answered your question, it's your turn to answer mine. What do you know of Gellert Grindelwald?"

I sighed, breathing a plume of steam into the frosty air. "Not much. He is about 17, we know that much. Bathilda Bagshot's his aunt."

"The nut who wrote our history text?"

"Yes, that's her."

Henry shivered. "Go on."

"He has a nasty temper, and hates Gypsies, Jews, and Poles, not to mention – "

"People like you," Henry interrupted, staring into my eyes.

"Yes."

"You think that's why he killed the Dumbledores, John?" he asked. "Why my friend is buried before his graduation?"

I winced. "Yes."

Henry clapped me on the shoulder. "Don't blame yourself."

"But it's-"

"Don't say it," he ordered, a strength in his voice I had never heard before. "It's not your fault."

"But – he was perceptive enough to see –"

"Which is _not your fault_."

"I aggravated him!"

"You had no idea of what he would do."

"I should have known… I should have known…" I shook my head. "I should have known."

"You couldn't have known, John. And, anyway, what could you have done about it?"

"Stayed there with them. Protected them."

"You could have died with them." Henry grabbed me by both shoulders and shook me. "Albus could have died, protecting them, and you."

_Going right for the weak spot, eh, Henry? Not something I would have expected of you, this is. Nor would I ever have guessed that you and Aberforth Dumbledore were friends, either, but still…_

_Albus dying… I don't want to think about it. I'm not afraid of death – my own death – but I am afraid of Albus dying._

_I think I have a new boggart. Once, it was myself, hurting people as my father once hurt me. Now – now, I think I shall see Albus, dead._

He released me, and we kept walking, but this time in silence. Snow whirled around us. Carriages drove by, horses neighed, and I could dimly hear the noise of people in the marketplace.

_Life goes on._

"There's something… you're not telling me… isn't there, John?" Henry asked. "You know something."

I cringed.

_I can't tell him the prophecy. I told Albus because I cannot keep anything from him. I told the Flamels because I know that they can deal with knowing it, and can help me fulfill it, if need be. But Henry? I don't want to hurt him, nor do I want to make him feel obligated to help me…_

"You do, don't you," he stated. "Why not tell me?"

"It's… complicated. A burden more than I want to bear."

Henry blinked. "Something that the great John Abrams is afraid of facing? My, that's got to be something huge." He grinned, and stuck out his chest in a pompous pantomime. "At least you know you've got the great Henry Raterman to help you."

I laughed. "You're full of yourself, Henry."

"Always have been." He dropped the smile. "Well?"

I sighed. "I don't want to tell you. It would be a trouble for you."

"Since when am I afraid of trouble?"

"I think that this would be too much, even for you."

Henry hummed and hawed. "I think that I'm up to the challenge, John, if has something to do with Abe's murder."

_Now, this is tricky. The prophecy itself has no power over me. My doom is foretold, and it will be my fate – but it is just that: _my_ fate. It is what I make of it._

"John?"

"For the purposes of this discussion," I said slowly, "it has something to do with Abe's murder."

"Now, that is odd."

"I believe that it and Abe's murder are connected, but its link is far stronger to me, and, through me, to Albus."

Silence.

I turned to face Henry. "Are you certain you want to know?"

His brown eyes reflected no hesitancy. "Yes." He beamed. "If I don't like it after you tell me what it is, you can always Obliviate me."

"Henry!"

"I'm only joking. My, John, you're testy…"

"You would be too…"

"You're probably right, as usual. Continue."

_You aren't making this any easier on me, Henry…_

I looked behind me, checking that Henry and I hadn't been followed from his apartment house. With no Muggles there to see us, and no Wizards near us, so far as I could tell, I put up a Silencing ward around us.

"You're really quite serious about all this," he said, watching me, "Aren't you?"

"Once you hear what this knowledge is, you'll think I haven't been nearly cautious enough," I said. I finished my ward, and took a deep breath.

"_**The one with the power to remake the world comes… Heir of Merlin's blood, heir to power not seen in generations… Society will revile him, as they do all that are his like… He shall fight back, and destroy all those that hate him, leaving only the pure of intent and heart… Only the love of his equal can save him from destroying the world utterly… and in the attempt to create the world, both he and his love must perish to what they were to become that which they could be… The one with the power to remake the world comes…"**_

Henry became very pale. "I've heard of that," he said. "My dad used to say that, if I did something particularly horrible, then this prophecy would come to be in my time." He smiled. "But I don't think I've done anything that horrible, at least not yet…"

I laughed, then sobered. "I am the last remaining Heir of Merlin."

"And since you're homosexual – "

"I certainly do not _intend_ to have any heirs by blood. It is possible that Albus and I might adopt a child one day, but none of them would be an heir to Merlin's bloodline."

"If this prophecy is to come to be at all, it would have to be through you, then."

"That is how I read it." I nodded. "The society of today certainly does seem to hate all those who love their own gender."

"But what does this have to do with my friend's murder?" Henry asked. "This is all well and good, John, but – "

"Gellert Grindelwald hates me."

His eyes twinkled with understanding. "You're destined to destroy him, if this is coming to be."

"And I wanted to know: will you stand by me? Will you help Albus and I destroy him?"

"Of course." I could hear venom in Henry's voice. "I fight with you, by you, and for you."

A band of silver light encompassed my hands, and Henry's. Phoenix song – a sound I'd only ever heard before from Albus' Patronus – rang in my ears.

The light faded, and the music died. Henry and I were left to blink at each other.

"What… was that?" he asked.

"I think you swore by your magic," I said, still confused. "By accident, but you swore."

"You mean… now I have to fulfill my oath, or it kills me?"

I stared at him, horrified. "Dear God!"

"My thoughts exactly. Well, no – I'm cursing more," Henry said, staring at his hands. "How on earth did I manage to swear without using the ritual words?"

"I haven't any idea, Henry." I brushed at my beard absently. "You know, the knights in Mediaeval Europe swore oaths to their liege lords. One Anglo-Saxon oath said, 'I will to my lord be true and faithful, to love all which he loves, and to shun all which he shuns.'"

"I'm not good enough with Wizarding history to remember anything like that from our History text. Not that Binns was at all helpful…"

"No, he wasn't, at that."

Henry sighed. "I don't think Obliviation would help me now, John." He gave a drawn smile. "But I don't think I could have a better liege lord."

"Henry, I –" The words died in my throat.

_I am so sorry, Henry. I have enormous power over you, enormous power – power I never wanted. I am so, so sorry…_

"Don't say it," he said, shaking his head. "You are an honorable fellow. At least, this way, I know you won't get into a fight without me there to help you."

I groaned. "If that was meant to be encouraging, Henry, it wasn't."

"I was being serious, for once." I stared at him. "I know, the world is ending, for the old scoundrel Raterman is being serious. But it's true – even Albus wouldn't make a better leader."

"I was more thinking that you were being too frivolous about your life."

He snorted. "My life isn't mine," he said. "My life is just the time that I am here to experience in this world, and I am to do all that I can in this world, to grow to be the human I was meant to be. I think – I'm supposed to grow through you."

I sighed. I was never going to convince him, I knew.

"Look at it this way, John – at least this way, I have a chance of avenging my friend's killer. Albus gets the first round, of course, but I want to be there too."

Before I knew it, we were back at Henry's tenement house.

"By the by, Henry," I asked, "what exactly were you painting when I disturbed you?"

He gave me a roguish grin. "You'll see it when it's done, like all the rest of my work. I'll see you around, John."

_God, I hope I won't get him killed. I'd miss the old rascal too much._

--

_23 January 1899_

--

I shrugged off my outer robes, laying them on the bench beside me. "Remind me again of why I agreed to this, Albus."

He laughed. "We both need dueling practice, and our gracious hosts have a room that is perfect for such an activity."

It was a truly awe-inspiring room. It was easily bigger than the Great Hall of Hogwarts; pillars, every thirty feet or so, soared at least five stories high. The stone floor shone with dim winter sunlight, from the numerous windows that lined the walls.

_Perfect isn't an exaggeration. All this space gives enough room for many pairs of duelers, but to have it down to one – it's almost too much space. Should the Apparition wards disappear, one could feasibly outflank one's opponent with ease._

He nodded to the Flamels, who were seated, and staring intently at Albus and I. "Thank you for that, by the way."

Nicolas smiled. "It isn't a problem, my boy," he said. "I have wanted to see you two duel one another for quite some time now. Albus told me of your duel with the Defense professor, John, and since I have dueled Albus myself, I would like to see how you hold up."

I glared at Albus. "Why on earth did you tell him about that particular incident?"

Albus just grinned and took a dueling stance about ten paces from me. "Ready, old friend?"

My lips twitched. "Ready for you? Always."

He blinked, and sent a Body-Bind at me. I sidestepped it, returning fire with _Tarantellegra. _And so we danced around one another's spells. Albus, being more agile than I, dodged almost every single spell, whereas I had to shield myself against a few.

_If there hadn't been Apparition wards up, we'd both be here, there, and everywhere. He might be quieter as an Apparator, but I'm faster._

Suddenly, he sent a whirling tornado at me. Air whipped past my ears, my grip of my wand slackened dangerously, my beard and hair flew in the wind – but, instead of avoiding the tunnel of gale, I stepped into its center.

_Into the eye of the storm do I go…_

The cyclone whirled around me. I conjured pebble after pebble into it, and then – when it was almost as much rock as air – I suddenly redirected it at Albus.

_The shock on his face is priceless._

He summoned a wall of flame that disintegrated the tornado. The orange glow of the fire gave his grinning face an eerie light. His hair was suddenly so much lighter than it was in sunlight, and yet his eyes were shrouded in darkness.

_Is this what Albus could have become, if my vision of he and Grindelwald had come to be? My beautiful Albus, my kind and wonderful friend… a monster, tortured and twisted – evil?_

Albus suddenly pushed the fire outward, making it spread around him at the level of his waist. I jumped high in the air to avoid it, and fired many inconvenient jinxes. The Furnunculus missed, and he blocked the Stunner, but the Jelly-Legs hit him full force.

_Aha! I've got him now. See if you can avoid me now, old friend._

He wobbled a bit, but recovered. Albus leaned against a pillar in order to prevent himself from falling. I could see the sweat beaded in his hair, an odd glow in his blue eyes.

Sparks flickered in my hair and beard, making a crackling noise.

_And it's giving me an idea…_

I shoved my wand in my pocket, calling upon the deep well of magic I could feel in me. I moved my right hand in a large circle, and then my left, and back again – building up a charge. To and fro, to and fro – blue electricity gathered around me, a line of silvery-bluish light that followed my fingers.

I could feel the stares of the Flamels on my back, but I could also feel an exhilaration that I had never known before. Warmth spread to parts of me I had never known were cold, my own magic seeming to sing in my ears. I released the charge in a lightning bolt at Albus' feet.

Rock splintered, glass shattered – my blood pounded in my throat, and for one instant I thought my soul and my body had separated – the flash of the lightning blinded me, the crash of the thunder seemed to deafen all sound.

I dropped to one knee, panting hard. Now that the lightning was gone, I felt almost cold. But I couldn't stop the duel now – Albus had managed to lift the Jelly-Legs, and where I was tired now, he wasn't. Or, at least, not as much as I was.

At the same moment, we conjured huge boulders and pushed them at one another. The stones hit one another precisely in between Albus and I. Each of us pushed on the rocks with all our might. One moment I thought he was going to triumph, but then I found a bit more strength in me and held my ground. Bit by bit, the rocks compressed on one another. I could hear the crunching, and I could feel the tremors of distressed matter through the floor.

Then – I felt my hold slip. Albus' grasp failed at that same moment – and, for an instant, neither of us held the stone. I could see it, two granite boulders, being pushed into becoming one – and then –

**BOOM!**

I was blown backwards, hitting a pillar behind me with enough force to knock the wind out of me. I coughed, and stood up again with difficulty. I could feel cuts on my face, arms, and legs bleeding – _probably shrapnel – _but their pain didn't concern me. I was still too focused on my duel.

Dust had been propelled into the air, so thick that I could only barely see Albus' outline through it. The boulders were gone, and as I cautiously stepped forward, I felt their remnants – pebbles, strewn across the floor – under my feet.

Albus choked and hacked. I heard him spit something onto the floor, and then a low curse.

_But he never curses! Well, almost never…_

Suddenly, the dust cleared. I could see Nicolas' standing form, striding towards me.

"John?" he said, "John, my boy, you're bleeding."

I looked down. Sure enough, my trouser leg had torn, and so had the skin beneath it. My shoe oozed blood with every step of mine.

"Albus?" I called to him.

Another cough. "Yes, John?"

_He sounds terrible._

Perenelle came up, saying, "No more talking, Albus. I bet your ribs are broken."

Nicolas turned to me. "You aren't doing so well yourself, John."

"You can say that again." I winced, really feeling my pain for the first time.

_Oh my. I don't think I've been this injured since – since before Father died._

"John?" I turned my attention back to Nicholas. He had conjured a stretcher. "I don't think you should walk on that leg any longer. Get on – Perenelle and I will fix you up."

I sat on the stretcher, gingerly. "And Albus?"

"He'll be fine. I've seen worse injuries."

_Which isn't really that reassuring, Flamel, given that your armor has the look of being repaired all too many times._

"What happened, sir?" I asked.

_I didn't think that compressing rock would cause an explosion._

Instead of answering me, he bent down. He rose, with something in his hands. "Take a look for yourself," he said. He dropped into my hand – pebbles?

"I _know_ the rock exploded, Master Flamel."

He laughed. "Take a closer look, boy."

I did.

_What is that? It doesn't look like the rock it started out as – hard, and almost clear… it can't be…_

"This can't be diamond," I said.

"No. But, I think, the compression and heat, pushing on the boulders, made them magically morph into something else – something else that could withstand your pressure and fire."

Silence. Flamel was marching me up a flight of stairs, now. I saw portrait after portrait go by, bust after bust of people long dead seeming to stare at nothing. We passed through an archway, and into a small, well-lit room.

_I don't think I've ever been here before…_

"Welcome, welcome, to the Flamel infirmary." Nicolas boomed.

"Nicolas, hush." Perenelle scolded. "Remember what I said about bedside manners?"

He paled. "If it's the conversation we had after the king lost his head, then yes, dear."

"The king?"

_My brain must be getting foggy. I thought our ruler was female…_

"The king of France, dear – Louis XVI."

"I was going to say," Albus wheezed.

Perenelle glared at him. "You really ought not to talk, young man. Healing broken ribs is a tricky business."

"Now John," Nicolas said, poking and prodding at the gash in my leg, "Where on earth did you get the thought that it would be a good idea to create lightning?"

"Er…" I gaped at him. How was I going to be able to explain this one?

He frowned. "Well, what spell did you use?"

"I didn't." I hissed when he hit a particularly tender wound.

"Sorry," he said, sounding quite the opposite of sorry. "What do you mean, you didn't use a spell?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, at used to be that when I got particularly angry, or desperate, I could do things without a wand that most wizards couldn't do with a wand."

"Like stopping Ariana," Nicolas nodded. "I can understand that much."

"Now, I don't need to be angry, or desperate. I – " I rubbed at my chest, feeling out an ache. "I just _feel_ my magic. It's held in reserve most of the time, until I get into a situation where I feel the need to use all my magic. It seems to like being used, having a purpose. At least, that's how I interpret it."

Nicolas stopped. I stared into his face, trying to divine his thoughts, but his face was unreadable. "How so?"

I frowned. "You mean you can't feel it?"

"No." He shook his head. "I have never heard of someone being able to feel their magic, not the way you describe it."

"But –" I looked to Albus. "You've seen it happen."

He shrugged, and winced.

"When was the first time you noticed this?"

"Oh, I don't – wait." I took a deep breath. "The day I knew I was Heir of Merlin."

Perenelle looked up from her ministrations on Albus. "The day you knew that you were more than you thought you were."

"Yes."

"How did it manifest?" Nicolas asked, resuming his work on my cuts.

"Electricity."

"You mean, lightning?"

"Sparks. Sparks flying in my hair and beard."

He blinked. "Power."

"Yes."

Nicolas grunted. "You are powerful – both of you," he nodded in Albus' direction. "I think, for our next duel, one of you should try me."

"Not both of us?" Albus asked hoarsely.

He laughed. "I'm not that much a fool, my boy. One alone is more than enough for me."

_But we fight as one, if nothing else._

_Wait… fight. _

"Sir?"

"Yes, John?"

"A friend of mine… swore to fight with me. Alongside me."

"Henry?" Albus said.

"Yes, Henry Raterman."

Nicolas' lips twitched. "He swore on his magic?"

"By accident, but yes."

"I've never heard of an oath taken by accident. Was he playing with the ritual words?"

I shook my head. "No. But he meant every word he said."

"Well, this is another thing I've thought to be impossible. Care to tell the story?"

--

_5 February 1899_

--

I sat in the Flamel's beautiful sitting room once again. Now, though, the early winter night had fallen, and the fire was lit in the grate. I nursed a cup of mulled mead in one hand, and clutched my ancestor's box in the other.

_What have you to say, Lord MacArthur? What have you not told me, that Nicolas will be able to see?_

I could feel the smooth wood under my hand, and the skilled carving of the MacArthur crest. Three gold crowns surrounding a cross.

_Appropriate and inappropriate for this family at the same time. Merlin was a pagan through and through, but still his house bears the kingship._

Albus sat down in the chair beside me. I set the box – for all its allure – down on the side-table, and put my hand over Albus'. He smiled wanly.

"I don't like this," he said.

"What?"

"You bear such a burden. You're going to change the world, but you're going to be hated and despised."

_What on earth are you saying, Albus?_

"Where is there room for simple, small Albus?" he said, his eyes unfocused, far away. "And Ariana – what of her?"

I stared into Albus' eyes. They were a cloudy blue, dark and stormy and unhappy.

_How can I help you, Albus? I'm useless with people, old friend – myself included. You included. I can't do anything without you by my side – but how can I make you see that?_

I pulled him into a hug. After a surprised moment, he relaxed into it with a sobbing sigh.

"Albus, you and I are one. I do nothing without you. I'm not going anywhere." I could feel his painful shudders through his soft linen robes. "I love Ari. How could I leave her alone in the world? She is your sister. I will not abandon her, any more than I can abandon you."

He pulled out of the embrace, sinking into his chair. He slumped, and I could see tears running down his nose into his handsome auburn beard. "I can't help but think," he sniffed, "that I would just hold you back –"

"Stop." I pushed all the command I could into my voice. "Stop it, Albus. I love you. Remember what I made you say, that day I found Murdoch MacArthur's portrait?"

He blinked. "You never wanted any of this – any of this power – "

"Not that part." He still looked confused. "I love you, Albus. You matter to me, more than anyone else. If someone gives you a nasty look, it takes all the self-control I have to restrain myself from hexing them. I don't care what people think of me, but I do care what they think of you."

"But – I'm not worthy of this – I'm powerful, and smart, but – "

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

_At least he didn't hesitate. I don't think my heart could take it if he had._

"Then worthiness doesn't matter. This isn't a job. I love you."

He shook his head roughly, as if to clear his head of cobwebs, and drew me into a hug. "I asked you once," he said into my shoulder, "How on earth did you get so wise?"

"And I told you then, Albus," I kissed him on the cheek, "that I wasn't wise at all."

The fire crackled, sending sparks and flickers of light out into the cozy room. The bitter winter wind howled outside, and snow flurries stuck to the windows.

Nicolas cleared his throat from the doorway. I disentangled myself from Albus' embrace to see the old man's grinning face. "Now," he said, "Perenelle might be out and about, but that doesn't mean that I can't help you out. Where's the artifact you wanted me to have a look at?"

"Here," I handed it to him. "That crest is the MacArthur family's."

"Hmm…" He looked at it twice on each of its six sides. "How does it open?"

I put my hand over the crest.

_Open, please._

The lock clicked, and Nicolas blinked in surprise. "Wandless magic, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir. Or, rather, I asked it to open, and it did."

"Hmmm." He set the box down, taking out the rolled parchment containing Lord Gerald Faolan MacArthur's letter to me. "And this is how you found out about the prophecy?"

"Indeed, it is. Is that significant?"

"No, I'm just curious."

Albus chuckled. "That's what you said, right before you stuck Thestral hair into an infusion of wormwood and nearly blew your laboratory to bits."

"I don't need reminding of that particular incident, Albus."

"Sorry, sir."

"You're not," he muttered, staring intently at the lettering on the parchment. "John, illuminate the back of this paper, please."

"_Lumos." _I looked to Nicolas' face, but – as I was discovering to be the norm with him – his face was unreadable. "Hmmm."

I almost expected letters to appear, letters behind those visible in regular light behind the page. But – nothing happened. Lord MacArthur's letter to his heir remained the same as it had always been.

"Well," Nicolas said, setting down the letter. "There is another box, isn't there?"

_The smaller one – I never looked at it, I have no idea as to what's inside it –_

Nicolas opened the little wooden container. Inside, there lay two rings. One was made out of what appeared to be a tree knot. The second was a gold band, carved with runic symbols, and inlaid with an oddly white stone.

_These belonged to my ancestors._

It was an odd feeling – to be so close to a physical relic of my own family's past. It was unnerving, to say the least.

Nicolas frowned. "It is usually the British custom for a family head to own two rings, the personal and the family's, am I right, Albus?"

"Yes," Albus said, staring at the rings still. "But why are there two rings here? The personal ring is always commissioned, and is almost always buried or cremated with them when they die."

_So which is which? The family ring, originally worn by Merlin – and what I can only assume is Lord MacArthur's ring._

I looked up from the rings to see both Nicolas and Albus staring at me. "What is it?"

"Well," Albus said, "If anyone would be able to tell which is which, it would be you, John. You're the last remaining of the Merlinus."

I groaned. "I never met either of these people. They died long before I was born – how, exactly, am I supposed to be able to tell?"

"Being in long-term contact with something," Nicolas said, brushing at his beard thoughtfully, "changes the something. It's almost… almost as if one can sense the nature of the person through the object."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try." I said. Putting my hand out to touch the gold ring, I closed my eyes, and I _did_ feel something.

_A kind man, a formal man, who had a very clear sense of duty, and while he loved his son, he couldn't help but think that he had failed –_

My eyes flew open. "I think that's Lord MacArthur's ring," I said.

Nicolas smiled. "Well, the theory works. But that isn't the ring you want."

"The family ring. But, if this is the personal ring, shouldn't the other one be the family ring?"

Albus shrugged. "For all we know, John, the family ring was lost."

"Lost?" Nicolas looked scandalized. "For a family ring to be lost, it would have been – "

"A disgrace?" I suggested.

"Yes, disgrace seems as good a word as any. The family ring means everything to the pureblooded family. Without it, they're no better than Muggleborns."

_Wait… the purebloods hate themselves almost as much as the hate others…_

"Or Squibs?"

Nicolas blinked. "Yes, that would fit. So, it would never have been given to Murdoch MacArthur, and he never could have given it to his daughter – "

"Who then could have passed it down to me. But that still begs the question," I tugged at my moustache and beard thoughtfully. "Is this second ring the family ring?"

I picked up the ring, feeling the smoothness of centuries of wear on the wood.

_Kindness and ferocity, a fighting spirit and the soul of a peacekeeper, a killer instinct and love of life, creation and a destruction…_

"I think this is the family ring," I said.

"Well, put it on, then." Albus' face was alight with a light I had not seen since Aberforth and Mrs Dumbledore had died.

I pushed it onto the middle finger of my right hand, and I felt a connection to my magic – the same sort of connection as I had had at Gringotts, being tested for my heritage. Gold light surrounded my hands. Phoenix song sang in my ears, comforting and strengthening me.

"_Welcome, dear heir," _a voice said, in my mind. I couldn't help but enjoy that I was being welcomed.

Nicolas half-bowed his head. "You are a Lord now, John. You aren't just Mr Abrams anymore – you're Lord John Abrams-MacArthur."

Albus paled. "Is that an actual name change? For instance, on the records at the Ministry of Magic?"

"I don't think so," Nicolas said, and smiled. "Concerned of the general public knowing of your noble heritage?"

"Yes," I said. "Very much so."

"Well, who knows now?"

"You and Perenelle, Albus, and Henry Raterman," I recited.

He blinked. "You will need a lot more people than that behind you in order to fulfill the prophecy, even if all you do is throw Grindelwald down – once he has power, that is."

"I know. I worry over that."

"Henry is already sworn to help you. Perenelle and I will stand by you. When next the young fool Grindelwald shows his face, I can only hope you have enough people to crush him, and all his forces."

"He's not even that dangerous," Albus suddenly said. "Nor would his followers be, on their own."

"Albus, he – "

"Don't say it, John. I know what he did. I was going to say that his ideas are by far the most dangerous. Do we have an intellectual answer to his call to hate?"

"I have one. Love."

Nicolas sighed. "I can only hope that will be enough."


	5. Chapter 5

Old Friends

-------------------------------

_Being very, very intelligent might create some problems and it has done for Dumbledore, because his wisdom has isolated him… where is his equal, where is his confidant, where is his partner? _

_**JKR in an interview**_

-------------------------------

Part V

-------------------------------

-------------------------------

_7 February 1899_

-------------------------------

_I sat in the pew, my back ramrod-straight. My father stood in the pulpit, delivering yet another fire-and-brimstone sermon to his congregants. All round me, they also sat – old people, young people, and even mothers and babies. Every one of them was impeccably dressed, even the little children in their satin bonnets. All were somber in demeanor._

Martin Luther one said that if he wasn't allowed to laugh in heaven, he didn't want to go there. Is this world so terrible? Is the next?

"_Hell is populated with many souls! Ye who have let your daughters wear those newfangled American contraptions, the Bloomers, are letting them cross-dress! Are women men, that they might wear pants? But what of men!"_

_My father paused. "Men in dresses! Men in makeup! Men dancing with men! Men kissing men! ABOMINATION!" The congregation collectively shuddered. "Leviticus is clear. A man might not lie with a man as with a woman. IT IS AN ABOMINATION!"_

_My lips twitched._

The Greeks loved one another – Alexander the Great had a male lover, and so did Achilles. What's the real difference? Physiological variation? How is that important?

"_These will burn!" he shouted. The noise echoed horribly in the church. "Burn! Hellfire is stoked by their bodies, yet they are never consumed! God loathes them! Sodom was destroyed for their sin – not even when Abraham asked God to spare it, should ten righteous men be found – not even one righteous man was there! All were burned! All shall be burned!_

Sodom was destroyed for a lack of hospitality, not their… shall we say… attempts at male rape. So say the rabbis. Is this what the seminary taught Father? Not to look for the truth, and to shatter hearts on his merry way to falsehood? He combines the worst of the School of Shammai with the School of Hillel; where Shammai trusted truth, Hillel brought joy to people. Father does neither!

"_God demands it, of us, his faithful, to bring these people to repentance! If they do not come, so much the worse for them, for then they heard the words of Christ, our Lord, and did not heed them!"_

_Out of the corner of my eye, I watched my mother's face. I hoped that it might at least flicker with some unease about this sermon. But she sat there, sill as a stone._

Is she naught but a troll, turned to stone in the sun?

I sat bolt upright, sweating profusely.

Albus moaned sleepily. "What's going on?"

"Another nightmare, Albus. Go back to bed."

He shook himself, and sat up slowly. "No, no," fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table, "You won't be rid of me that easily, John."

I gulped. "My father again." I ran my hand through my hair.

"Oh?"

"One of his more memorable sermons. The one on Leviticus 18:22." I shuddered, hearing his long-dead voice echoing in my ears again. "_'Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; it is an abomination._'"

Albus blinked. "Religion confuses me," he said. "I thought the Christ asked people to love their neighbor?"

"He said more than that – love their enemies."

"So," he chewed at his lip. "How can it be that religion believes so strongly in Hell? Doesn't fire eternal go against the Christ's teaching? Why would the Christ ask something of humanity that he refused to do himself?"

"If I knew the answer, I would tell you, old friend. All I know is that, even dead, the man – my father, that is – still haunts me. He would have killed me, I think, on the night I received my Hogwarts letter. God forbids sorcery, you know. _Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live, _also in Leviticus. He would have killed both of us for – "

"Being in love," Albus interrupted, putting an arm over my shoulder. "Being who we are – One."

I sighed, and leaned into the embrace. I could feel Albus' wiry muscles under my head, and the fine fingers on my back. His arm, lightly muscular but deceptively strong, offered me some sort of comfort. His beard tickled my ear, and I could hear his breathing – deep, rhythmic, and soothing.

My torso shuddered.

_I'm still not very good with human touch. Not to mention that most of my scars are on my back…_

"You're not alone, John, never alone, whatever scars you bear. Don't push me away. Don't lock yourself behind a wall and swallow the key."

"The pain is not a wall."

"No? Then what have you been climbing over all these years?"

I shuddered. "I tried to go under it first."

"You mean your father tried to force you under it."

"Nevertheless, I tried to make myself as he wished."

"Don't most children?"

"I don't think I was ever really a child, Albus."

"In this, you were." One of Albus' tears trickled onto my cheek from his. "In this, you were as he thought you were."

"And what would that be?"

"Someone he could intimidate."

"Perhaps."

_I can't make myself believe that. My belief, though, has no effect on its truth, and I know that Albus is probably right – probably even more right than he knows, or than I will ever know._

"But the grave can heal such a fear."

"The pain lives in my bones, my friend. That which he tried not to destroy."

Silence.

"He wanted my mind, Albus. He wanted my soul shattered, my spirit broken, my breath his personal servant and the servant of the God," I spat the word, more in hate for my father than anything else, "he made in his image."

"Reversing Genesis?"

"Yes. _Bereshit bara Elo-him et ha-shamayim ve'et ha-aretz._ In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth."

"That's not Greek."

"Hebrew. Father wanted me to learn the Bible in its original language. Trouble was, I learned too well."

Albus leaned back onto his pillows, pulling me down with him in a gentle but firm embrace. My head rested on his chest, my head rising in time with his inhalation and his chest hair rustling with my breathing.

"Too well?"

"I didn't just read the text. I read the commentaries, and I read until I understood the grammar, not just the gist of a word or phrase. And they focused on God's love, not God's hate. God's names were yod-hey-vav-hey, Mercy, and Elo-him, Justice, Chesed, Loving-kindness, and Gevurah, Strictness, among others. But hate? No. Love is called Ahavah. Prayer is avodah she-ba-lev, the service of the heart, and how can one have avodah she-ba-lev without ahavah?"

Albus' chest rumbled with laughter. "You soaked up information like a sponge, John."

I couldn't help but laugh too. "And I never forget, remember that."

"No jest there. You have a memory like an elephant's."

"Or elephants have memories like mine."

"Or that." He sighed. "John, I don't know much of your father's Bible, or your father's God. But I can't help but think that he was wrong. If there is a God out there, I can't help but think that He would not have made us how we are if there was no place for us."

I smiled.

_I'm just happy that I have you. I'm not much without you – just another lonely person out there. But – together – we're so much more. Hearts merge, memories, beings. At-one-ment, indeed._

_And if that's not godliness, I'm not sure what is._

-------------------------------

_10 February 1899_

-------------------------------

I glared at the typewriter.

It seemed to glare back.

_It's mocking me. All that paper I've got, and not a whit of a sentence._

Books were stacked in piles three feet high all around me – all of them mine.

_I had thought that they would be something of an inspiration. Not so much, it seems. Even if they are all books from a trilogy._

I got up and walked into the kitchen.

_If I can't be writing, at least I can have some luncheon. It's almost noon…_

I ate, reading the morning newspaper. There had been another murder in Whitechapel – nothing new there – and a duke had snubbed some member of the nobility or other.

I looked up to rest my eyes from the paper's tiny print, and my eyes fell upon Murdoch MacArthur's portrait. As before, he still looked like an old walrus. But in this light – noonday sun and a seated viewpoint – his eyes seemed to glow.

_A bit creepy, that._

So many things in this world are grey, all in different shades, but at that moment, I believed that I could see the whole world in grey in Murdoch MacArthur's painted eyes.

_Is that what I look like when I play with electricity? Power and warmth beyond anything I had ever thought to be possible?_

The doorbell distracted me from my train of thought. I opened the door to see Henry Raterman, bundled in a wool jacket. Even the ends of his moustache – bushier and messier than when I saw him last – were shivering.

"Henry!" I pulled him inside, away from the piling snow and frosty wind. "I wasn't expecting you! Come, have some lunch with me…"

Henry smiled. "Actually," he said, "I've got something for you. And Albus, of course."

I laughed. "As if we ever keep anything to ourselves."

"You'll like it, I hope," he said, pulling a small square out of his pocket. He enlarged it with a wave of a wand.

It was a painting.

As depicted, Albus and I were walking in a garden full of roses. Loose-petal Gallic roses, tightly bound Damasks, buds of just-barely-blooming China roses – there they were, in all sorts of colors. Had we stepped through a rainbow and into a moment of heaven?

Albus' face was joyous, the like of which I hadn't seen since before his mother's funeral. His hair was long, around his shoulders, and a fur hat covered a good deal of it. His mouth was turned up in a smile, a small one, but size isn't everything in joy. I couldn't tell how old the portrayed Albus was; his hair was grey at the temples, and his beard was about six inches longer than it was presently, but his skin showed few wrinkles, and his eyes and vigor were certainly undimmed.

I was surprised, though, at my face. To me, my face was just an image in the mirror when I combed out my beard in the mornings. In the painting, my face was a light for the whole scene. My hair was cropped short – or, at least, I couldn't see any of it under my hat, which was fur like the other. I was clearly older; my beard, which like Albus' had grown about six inches, and eyebrows were heavily streaked with a silvery grey, and one of my hands was holding a straight wooden cane. The other hand, of course, was in Albus'.

Not even the fact that the painting did not move could have made it any less beautiful to me.

"Wow," I said, reaching out to touch the frame. "It's beautiful, Henry. Is this what you were painting, that day?"

"When I made my Accidental Oath? No, this isn't the painting I was working on then. It's done, but I'll unveil it only when it's the proper time."

"Drat. I really want to see that painting…"

He grinned mischievously. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Mayhap, mayhap not." I shrugged. "Do you suppose you could help me lift it up to where that other painting is now?"

Henry looked to Murdoch MacArthur's portrait. He squinted at it, and moved a bit, as if trying to see it from every angle.

_I didn't think it was that unusual a painting…_

"What is it, Henry?"

He pursed his lips, and lifted it down from above the fireplace. "I thought I saw something odd in his face. I don't believe these eyes are supposed to be glowing like that."

I blinked. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said." He poked and prodded the back of the painting with his wand. "Hmmm."

_I don't like the sound of that much._

"There's a spell here," he said finally. "I think it's a degraded or failed animation spell."

"Well, maybe I can fix it." I pulled my wand out of my pocket and waved it at the portrait. "_Animatus_."

The painting glowed faintly.

_It was supposed to make the portrait move, not make color or light. That's not right at all._

"Well, that's not right," Henry muttered, scratching his head. "This is quite confusing."

"You've got that right."

"When did it start glowing?"

"I'm not sure. It wasn't like that when I took it out of the attic, that's for certain."

_Wait… I've seen the glow before… But not on Murdoch MacArthur. I saw it in Albus' eyes during our duel at the Flamel's._

"You've got that look on your face that means you're thinking, John. What's on your mind?"

"I've seen the glow before – in Albus' eyes."

Henry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. When Albus performs a number of spells in a short time – difficult spells, mind you – his eyes glow like that."

"I thought I saw it in your eyes, John. That day in Defense against the Dark Arts – when you made the Patronus."

I raised an eyebrow. "You've got to be joking."

"Joking? I?"

I laughed. "Henry, I've rarely known you to be serious."

"I am now."

"I don't believe you."

His lips twitched. "Cast your Patronus, then."

I sighed. "All right, Henry, I'll humor you."

_Albus and I, more together than we could ever be alone. I love him._

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

My wolf jumped out, huge as ever, and glowing with the same distinct magical power as in Murdoch MacArthur's eyes. The wolf seemed to bark, and pranced around Henry and I.

It disappeared just as Albus came in the door.

"Playing with magic, old friend?"

I laughed. "Only with your help."

He kissed me on the cheek and turned to Henry. "What brings you here, Henry?"

"I have a painting for you," he pointed to his work, "but I noticed your current painting's troubles and just had to mess with it."

Albus lifted an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

Henry pointed at it. "The eyes are glowing," he said baldly.

Albus bent down and stared at it. "Hmmm." He cast a few diagnostic spells – a few of which I didn't know, probably from Nicolas – and stood up. "There's no magical reason for it to be doing that. It does have an anti-animation spell on it, though, and I'm not skilled enough to remove it."

"Albus Dumbledore, the great Albus Dumbledore, not skilled enough to do something?" Henry tut-tutted. "I thought this was an impossibility. You've disappointed me, Albus."

Albus chuckled. "You always did have a talent for hyperbole."

My cat nuzzled up against Henry's legs. "Why, hello, Elaine. I haven't seen you in a good long while. How are things?"

She meowed.

"Oh, dear, dear, dear. John, she says she wants salmon to eat, not leftovers. In a crystal dish."

I laughed, and picked Elaine up. "Silly kitty."

She meowed again.

Albus was still staring at Murdoch MacArthur's portrait. "Your eyes glowed like that when you directed the electricity, John."

_What?_

"I feel like I'm missing something," Henry said. "Electricity?"

"Our last duel," I said, "I wandlessly cast lightning."

Henry gulped. "You ought to be dead."

"Obviously, I'm not."

"All the same, John, your eyes shined like that," Albus pointed to the portrait's eyes.

"I thought it looked like a Patronus' glow," Henry said.

Albus sank into one of our plush, overstuffed purple chairs, his hand over his eyes. "A Patronus takes a phenomenal amount of skill and power," he said, "Something John and I have in abundance."

"John more than you, it seems," Henry muttered wryly.

I glared at him.

"What? It's a fact – not something you can walk away from, John."

Elaine jumped out of my arms.

_Going off to finish some cat business, no doubt._

"My question is, why would the portrait be glowing?"

"He is my great-great grandfather; maybe my magic is fueling it."

Albus blinked. "That's it – that's it!" ha laughed, jumping out of his chair and nearly tackling me in an attempt to hug me. "He just embodies your family. You are connecting with them, with their deep well of magic, so his eyes glow, just as yours do in magic."

I pried Albus off me and sat down.

_I never wanted this. I am not the hero that this world requires._

"I'm really curious now," Henry said, "to see what all of this looks like."

"What?"

"The eye-glowing and electricity."

"Well, I can't do it here – I'd destroy the place. I spent too much time decorating to wreck it for a bit of a show, Henry."

Henry pouted.

_Damn it. He knows I can't resist him when he does that…_

_Later…_

_How on earth did I get talked into this?_

I stood in the Flamel's huge dueling room again. I had taken off my heavy outer robe, and was shivering in the cold space.

_Meh, I'll be warm soon enough._

Henry, Albus, and the Flamels stood at the sidelines. They were waiting for me , I knew.

_Am I ready for this? The last time this happened, I nearly destroyed the floor, not to mention the pillars. I don't think I would enjoy a repeat of Samson's last moments much._

_But, I have to admit, wielding that much power is an intensely pleasurable experience._

"Are you ready, John?"

I nodded, and took a deep breath. Sparks fizzled in my hair and beard.

_Snap-snap-snap._

I moved my right hand in a large clockwise circle, and then my left in a counterclockwise motion. Back and forth, to and fro, a line of bluish-grey light energy streaked from one side to the other. Heat warmed me in places left cold since the last time. I laughed; I could feel my magic bubbling over, sheer joy filling me.

_The only times I've ever been happier than this are the times I've spent with Albus._

I directed the lightning to circle, wreathlike, around my head. Its charge and the static in my hair made sparks fly all the more vigorously. I punched forward, training the energy away from myself and my watchers.

The light flashed with the power of a million Patroni. Thunder knocked me backward with a force I had never felt before. My heart stopped for an instant, and I felt my breath jumping in my throat. The wall that had taken the force of the lightening was burned – scorched.

I sighed, feeling cold again. Albus put an arm over me, and handed me some hot chocolate. "That was amazing, old friend."

I smiled. "Thanks."

"Amazing, nothing," Henry said, looking as shocked as the day he had made his oath, or perhaps even more so. "I'm flabbergasted. You've done the impossible again."

"Again?"

"Your first Patronus on your third try. History-making, that was. But this… This makes that look like child's play."

I raised an eyebrow.

He grinned. "I think I've found a new idea for a painting."

Albus chuckled. "You are incorrigible, Henry."

I groaned. "Incorrigible, nothing. How about inveterate?"

"As scintillating as this conversation is," Nicolas Flamel interrupted, "it still doesn't answer the question: how is this possible?"

"Now, now, Nicolas," Perenelle elbowed him, "You just want to know how to do it yourself."

Even I had to laugh at that.

"At least I didn't injure myself this time."

_Other than feeling like I could sleep for a week._

"True, that." Nicolas rubbed his beard.

My knees wobbled, and I sat down. Albus looked at me worriedly. I smiled at him, and patted him on the back. "I'll be fine."

"You aren't nearly so tired as the first time," Nicolas said.

"No, I'm not."

"Does it hurt?" Henry asked.

_What?_

"What?"

"You know, pain, sting, ache…"

I scowled. "Henry…"

"It's a good question," Perenelle said. "Is casting the lightning painful?"

"No, quite the opposite. It's… exhilarating. Thrilling. It hurts a little, I suppose, but it doesn't matter – not with _that_ flowing through your body." I felt the stiffness in my joints plain as anything, but I ignored the complaint. "All those old stories, in the myths, where a god decides to take an avatar from among his people, and ride the chosen one until such-and-such a task is done… It almost a possession. My deepest self possessing myself, if that makes any sense."

Silence. Nicolas still rubbed at his beard, Perenelle chewed at her lip, and Henry's bright brown eyes were lost in thought.

"It was more intense this time," Albus said. "A more powerful bolt, and an even brighter glow in your eyes, John."

"I think I'm getting better at it – and more captivated by it. It worries me."

Henry shrugged. "You're powerful, John. Most everyone who knows you, knows that. But to be able to do this…" He shook his head. "People would kill to be able to do what you do every day just once in their lifetimes."

I groaned, and put my head in my hands. "Henry, you're not making me feel any better."

He raised an eyebrow. "You fear power?"

"Rather, its misuse."

Nicolas laughed. "That is not for you to decide. Now," he clapped his hands together, "Can you try to show me how to cast lightning?"

I gulped. "Er…"

He thumped me on the back. "You can't kill me, lad. Show me."

I looked to Albus. His eyes encouraged me. _Go, _they seemed to say. _Teach the teacher something._

"Breathe deeply, Master Flamel. That is how I begin every spell, but it's crucial for this particular spell, I think…"

-------------------------------

_14 February 1899_

-------------------------------

I awoke in the dark. I sat up carefully.

_Waking Albus up would defeat my purpose._

He looked rather adorable, curled up on his side. Without his glasses, his face seemed oddly vulnerable.

_Albus? Vulnerable? Hah!_

He rolled over in his sleep, and his hand flopped over his eyes. "John…" he muttered. _" __Je t'aime__."_ Albus smiled, and repeated, "_Je t'aime."_

I translated his words from the lyrical French._ I love you._

I grinned, and brushed at his hair. He sighed, apparently in contentment.

_And I you, love. I would kiss you, but that would probably wake you up._

I stood, hearing my knees pop, and padded reluctantly out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, tugging a sweater over my head. Adjusting the glasses on my nose, I muttered, "_Lumos."_

_Albus is a master in Transfiguration and Potions, but he still can't cook worth a brass Galleon. So it falls to me to make breakfast for St Valentine's Day._

I could not help but chuckle.

_Father always hated this day. It bore the name of a martyr, but it was a holy day of love. He could not stand love, for some bizarre reason._

I stuck the bacon rashers under the broiler absentmindedly.

_I am never as whole as when I am with Albus. I am never so alone when he is not around. How could I refuse myself that happiness, that at-one-ment?_

I hummed quietly, frying eggs and toasting bread before the hot coals.

_This – cooking – is really the most romantic I ever get. Albus gave to me flowers on my birthday, the last two years, and took me on a picnic up in Hogsmeade. I wonder… what will we do today? I know the Flamels are expecting us to tea – thank God, it's not Madam Puddifoot's – but what of luncheon and an activity?_

Dawn broke. Birds twittered in the trees, and the morning light glinted off the snow and ice all around the house. I took a deep breath, inhaling the quiet and joy of this morning.

_Only Albus would make this better._

I heard Albus stir, the sheets rustling and the usual morning yawning breaking the hour's silence.

_Speak of the devil – or rather, I think, of the angel…_

Light sparkled on Albus' glasses as he ambled into the kitchen. It gleamed all the more in his beautiful auburn hair and beard, long and wavy.

_I love Albus. How did I ever think – was it only a year and a half ago? – that I could stop myself from falling for him?_

He grinned at me. "Breakfast smells delicious, John!"

"Thanks, Albus. Happy St Valentine's Day."

He blinked. "It that what today is? I wondered why I smelled bacon rather than oatmeal…"

I laughed. "Albus, one would have thought you mad, had you not been so intelligent."

"I can still be mad, can't I? A mad genius?"

"Who happens to forget dates?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Oy, you do it too!"

"Remind me. I know I remembered your birthday…"

He ran his fingers over my face. "I'm just teasing you, old friend." He kissed me.

I shook my head, laughing. "Albus, you've spent too much time around Henry."

"What makes you say that?"

"You've become as incorrigible as he is."

"Well, that's a compliment."

I chuckled, and kissed him. "I love you."

"And I you."

We spent a bit longer entangled in our embrace.

_Later…_

Albus and I sat in the Flamel's sitting room – with the Flamels themselves, of course.

_All the lace and gilt must be Perenelle's touch. I sincerely doubt Nicolas would have chosen anything of its like._

I sipped my hot, sweet tea, savoring its spiced bitterness. Orange, cinnamon, and clove – in the tea, and in the potpourri on the end tables – blended a splendid scented harmony. The fire crackled, its heat warming the cozy space. Snow fell outside, the sun shining through it and making the window shine with a redoubled wintry light.

"How did you and Nicolas come to meet, Perenelle?" I asked Madame Flamel.

She chuckled. "Do you mean the time he bowled me over in my own father's shop or when he sought my hand in marriage from my father?"

Albus blinked. "Master Flamel knocked you over?"

Nicolas seemed torn between laughing and scowling. "I'm sorry, dear, it was by accident, after all!"

"You've been saying that for six hundred years, Nicolas. I think I've heard enough apologies for that particular incident."

"What was your father's trade?" I asked, blowing on my tea.

"He was a bookbinder, buying hides from tanners, turning them into parchment, and then – magically, of course – copying books. And selling them, though that was my job by the time I was able to read the Latin letters and tall enough to reach the tops of the bookshelves. I had to stand on a stool, but I managed."

Nicolas grinned. "You managed, but your father didn't even begin to be wealthy until I came along, dear."

"Now, now, I'm allowed a bit of pride."

"You are? Am I?"

"No."

Nicolas blinked. "Why?"

"If I didn't tease you, you dear, silly man, you head would get so big that it would float away and take you with it, scaring all the lovebirds. Not least of which are the two that are in front of us today, so let's at least try for some propriety."

I blushed. Albus had seemingly dropped his spoon, and had crawled half off his seat, half under the table to find it.

"I tripped over her stool one day," Nicolas said, determinedly not looking at me, or Albus. "and fell over a little –"

"I wasn't that young, or little, dear, and you know it! I must have been ten, at least!"

"And I about fourteen. I didn't think of you again until our parents proposed a match. My family's wealth – they were merchants in the silk business – and Perenelle's family history."

"Family?" Albus asked.

"My family tree traces back to Charlemagne's court." She waved a negligent hand. "All Muggles, up until my father – and he was barely trained. What skill he had in copying things, he had to learn with himself as his only teacher. Nicolas took over my father's shop and trade when he died," Perenelle said softly, her eyes seemingly far away. "The plague had ravaged Paris for some time, and he was one of its many victims."

"My family had," Nicolas picked up the tale, "by then, been mixed up in some shipments of fine damask from the Muslim nations that never arrived at destination. Bankrupt, they ran from Paris with all they had left. I stayed."

_Bravery?_

Perenelle put a hand on Nicolas' arm.

_Love? _

"You stayed." Perenelle smiled. "We hid ourselves for a while, living out in the country to stay away from plague, but that does get tiresome."

_Both?_

"Well, we went back to Paris after a while – a few summers, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but only a few. Time flies when you're young and in love, after all."

My insides had that warm and fuzzy feeling that meant I'd descended into sentimental lovesick foolishness.

_Oh well. It is true – I can't believe that I've been with Albus for a year and then some. Sometimes it feels shorter, sometimes longer, but every moment is precious._

"In 1370," Nicolas said, "I bought a book, in a language I didn't understand."

Albus sat up straighter. "The recipe for the Stone?"

"Yes. I've never been one to back down from a challenge, but I couldn't even read the text. I had despaired of making any use of it, until I took it to Spain in 1378, where I had it translated from the Judeo-Arabic into scholarly Latin. Even then, when I could read the words, I had to work on understanding it."

My confusion must have been visible, for Albus explained, "Alchemical books are almost always written in code. None of the people in power, then or now, would be pleased to deal with someone who can live forever and has access to unlimited gold."

"And this book was trickier than most." Nicolas made a face. "It took me seven years to fully understand the 21-page manuscript, and five more to assemble the ingredients and laboratory needed to create the Stone. Obtaining glass was a most difficult part of that ordeal, that and powdered bicorn horn. The creature tried to eat me."

Perenelle's lips twitched. "At least I have some skill with healing, Nicolas."

He coughed. "Finally, I was ready to make the Stone. It took a week without sleep, but – I had the Stone! I had all the life I could ever want! I could buy the world!"

Perenelle laughed. "See, Nicolas? If you have an inch for pride, it grows to be a mile high and wide."

"But when I reached out to touch it," Nicolas said, overlooking his wife's statements, "it burned me."

"It hadn't cooled yet?" Albus asked.

"No, it was cool. I threw water on it, and the water didn't steam up and turn to vapor. The liquid just splashed off the stone."

"It wasn't for you, then, to touch first." I said, chewing at my lip.

"No." Nicolas' eyes were staring through me, seemingly at something far away and long ago.

_Do I have to be the focal point, though? Having him sort-of stare at me is like having Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington glide through me…_

"I had made it – _I, I, I! _But then, my eyes fell upon the beautiful woman in the corner, who had helped me every step of the way, and who had as much a right to the Stone as I. I had forgotten her in my ecstasy over the Stone, to my shame. I ran to her, and –"

"Kissed me within an inch of my life," Perenelle interrupted, eyes glistening.

Nicolas grinned. "I did, at that."

"Then he picked up the Stone," she said, "and put it in my hand. My tears of joy at his joy turned to gold on my hand."

"It didn't matter to me, anymore, that I could make gold. The idea of living forever without _her _turned to ash in my mouth. How could I have been so blind that, after forty years together, something so tiny as a Stone could divide us?"

"You weren't blind," Albus said. "You caught yourself halfway."

-------------------------------

_19 February 1899_

-------------------------------

I sat in the kitchen, perusing the morning's _Prophet. _"Hmmm."

"What's hmmm, John?" Albus asked, sliding into a chair, two cups of tea in his hands. One he handed to me. The other he took a long swallow from.

"The French president died on the 16th."

"Félix Faure?"

"Yes, him – wait, how did you know of him?"

"My maternal grandparents are Muggles. They send me post every now and again."

"I kept up with the Muggle news for Mother's sake, and out of habit after she died." I shrugged, and stirred sugar into my tea.

"Ah. You know I already put sugar in that, right?"

"You did?" I tasted it. The sweetness was almost overpowering. "Oh well, I'll drink it anyway. What are you and Nicolas doing today?"

"The same old project on dragon's blood. You?"

"I'm doing something today?"

"I take that to be a 'nothing, Albus.'"

"And you would be correct. Well, nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. Try to write, read up to make sure I haven't contradicted any history – the usual."

Albus tugged at his beard.

"What are you thinking, Albus?"

"Did we ever really figure out what was going on with the rings that were in Lord Macarthur's box?"

"I put them on without any ill effects," I raised my right hand, showing the plain gold ring and the plainer wooden knot.

"True, but usually the family rings have some sort of power. The Dumbledore ring keeps the wearer calm in times of intense stress, for example."

I raised an eyebrow.

Albus sighed. "I don't have it. It belongs to my father, even if he is in Azkaban. I don't have the right to wear it, yet."

_Because he still lives, _floated unsaid between us. _He must die for me to have it. If that is the price, I can wait._

"What about the personal rings?"

"I'm not sure. I wouldn't think so; the magic that is in the family rings wasn't actually cast on them, it's just what they pick up from being on a person's hand for so long. A personal ring isn't passed from generation to generation, and so doesn't have the chance to accumulate magic."

_But Lord Macarthur's ring was in the box__. Why? Shouldn't it have been buried with him?_

Albus must have read my face, because he said, "Lord MacArthur wrote the letter to you in 1818, right?"

"December 1818. And he wrote it to his heir, not to me."

"Same thing."

"Not really. He didn't know who I would be."

"He might have. A family of such influence as his – yours – could have used it to procure the services of a Seer to see who you would be."

"If so, why didn't he use my name?"

"Your name often means something, but that's the name you choose for yourself, not so much your given name."

"All right, you've made your point. Now what about your other point?"

"Oh, yes. Lord MacArthur died not long after that, if I remember right. He might have known his end was near, and put the ring there for you to find, as a measure of authenticity."

My eyes went to the ring on the middle finger of my right hand. The odd white stone glowed, as it always did, with a soft light akin to the moon's. The runes surrounding it read Uruz, Thurisaz, Ansuz, and Wunjo – the runes for the formulation of the self and unbridled energy, defense by means of offense, insight combined with true wisdom and right speech, and fellowship combined with glory and personal reward on a tilt that suggested a crazed enthusiasm.

"Does one choose one's own ring?" I asked softly.

Albus shrugged. "I've never asked."

"Well, if Lord MacArthur did, he certainly intended for great things." I pulled the ring from my hand and offered it to Albus. "Read that."

He blinked. "You would let me touch it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Albus, we sleep in the same bed. You've seen me at my most naked moments, literally and figuratively, and you expect me to care about some dead ancestor's ring? Please. Think better of me than that, dear."

He took the ring. "I do," he said with a smirk, "think better of you than that, _dear_. But you were raised Muggle, and you tend to have different standards of personal and private than other people."

"Other people like Henry? Again, please. He frequents the soiled doves in Whitechapel, shares the stories with me, and in the same beat he won't let me see his paintings until he's done with them."

"Touché."

A few moments passed in silence. "Great things, nothing," Albus muttered.

"What's that, Albus?"

"The trouble with inscribing runes on a non-flat surface is that some runes will come out more – be more obvious, hog the magic more. And with something that's three-dimensional, you're just asking for pain. Up and down are suspended, so that both the good and bad elements are displayed." He rubbed at his forehead with the hand that wasn't holding the ring. "Highly unstable, this magic. There are better ways to do the same thing – a tattoo, for example, or a pendant. But a ring like this one can be worn two ways, two directions – and so…."

"Both come to light." I gulped. This was trouble personified.

Uruz could be a boost for good character traits, but can do the same for bad ones with an inversion. Thurisaz might be defensive one way, but was insane the other, unable to distinguish friend from foe in a frenzy. Wunjo could create good fortune or destroy it. And ansuz – it called upon speech and wisdom and truth, but how much, whose, and at what time? The same words could build or destroy at different times, and wisdom unused or used badly could cut to the quick and destroy any friendship or adventure.

"Good Lord. The creator of this ring was playing with fire!"

"Oh yes – and he knew what he was doing, too. These," Albus shook the ring, "are not for aesthetics."

"Maybe they meant something to him."

Albus harrumphed. "Too bad he hasn't chosen to share the meanings with us."

A thought glimmered just out of reach.

I saw Albus' eyes flick to the clock and widen. "I'm late. I'll see you later, John."

"Have a good day, old friend."

He grinned. "As if it could be anything else."

_With you in it,_ went unsaid. It didn't need to be.

-------------------------------

_26 February 1899_

-------------------------------

The morning dawned cold. Albus lay fast asleep under the crocheted blankets I had found in the attic back in August.

_We certainly got a lot of use of them this winter. I can't remember any season being this cold, dark, snowy, and long. I need to get outside and do something before I go insane. _

I sat up carefully. Albus was a light sleeper – or, at least, light when compared to me. I slept like the dead most nights. But, this morning, I wanted to feel useful, at the very least. Writing brought in a little money – I hated the idea of living off my ancestors' accumulated wealth – but it wasn't as though I was discovering more of the uses for dragon's blood.

I rose slowly, pulling on a sweater as I went. The neck caught on my glasses – _gah, I hate it when I fall asleep with them on. What was I doing, late at night with my glasses on? Oh, yeah. I was rereading my runes textbooks. Gah, and again gah_ – but I wrangled it off with a soft curse.

Albus mumbled, and rolled over, but did not wake.

_Inveterate bed-hog, among other things._

I chuckled, and smiled, trying to resist the urge to ruffle his hair or his beard.

_That certainly would wake him up. And he seems like he needs his sleep. What is he thinking, pulling 18-hour days with Nicolas for the last week? _

I shook my head.

_I san understand the urge to do, to be anything other than a lazybones, but still… this is ridiculous._

The floor was cold, even through my socks.

_Both pairs._

I started a fire in the stove, and another one in the fireplace in the sitting room. The light played tricks on my glasses, and on the two paintings – the Rose Garden, as I called it in my mind, and Murdoch MacArthur's portrait. I rubbed at my hands, trying to warm them by the fire. I had fallen asleep wearing both rings – the family's and Lord MacArthur's.

_From what I can tell, I haven't owned the rings long enough for them to affect me, or for me to put a mark on them magically. Still, those runes are truly unnerving.__ But, what else can I do? There is no place safer for them than on my hand, and when I want to study them, they are close at hand – literally._

It might have been crazy, an effect of the cold and the early hour, but I couldn't help but smirk at my own really bad pun.

_Albus would either laugh or gape at me, and probably the latter. I surprise even me, and if I can surprise __myself, I can certainly surprise Albus._

I put the kettle on, and pulled out flour, salt, sugar, butter, milk, an egg, cinnamon, and chemical leaven. I greased a sheet pan, and mixed flour with sugar with salt – only a pinch! – with the leaven. The butter was next, cut into the dry ingredients to make a crumbly dough. Egg and milk and cinnamon completed it. I formed the dough into small rounds, and put them on the pan. The stove was hot, very hot – good. These scones would be perfect, then.

_Cream or jam – or both? I'll leave it to Albus to decide._

The scones went in. I put up an Imperturbable Charm on the bedroom door.

_I want everything perfect. Albus waking up over the smell of my scones, good or bad, would not be as I intended._

Bacon went on the stove next.

_I've forgotten what it tastes like. After that night Albus came home covered in blood and I nearly killed him for scaring me over something as unimportant as not cleaning up an experiment gone wrong, I find that the idea of eating meat – the flesh of another creature – is just plain nauseating._

I couldn't help but laugh at myself.

_My thoughts ramble. Hey, that reminds me of a song…_

"I am a rambling Irishman, in Ulster I was born. And many's the happy hour I've spent on the banks of sweet Loch Erin…" I kept it quiet, and that put a damper on the quality of my sound.

_I suppose doing a lot of work for no particular reason is just another symptom of my mild craziness. This winter is really getting to me._

I smelled the scones and took them out of the oven before they turned to charcoal. The bacon cooked in its own fat without too much intervention from me – _good for my stomach – _and I took the morning's _Prophet_ from the post owl. I scanned the front page to the last for any sign of my name, Albus', Henry's, or the Flamel's.

_The more we stay out of the public eye, the better. Less scrutiny and maybe more freedom without the press breathing down our necks._

I didn't see Grindelwald's name, either. Good for him, and good for me.

_At the moment, I am willing to play a defensive game. I will make myself as powerful as possible, and if and when he attacks, I'll cut his legs out from under him. Maybe even literally._

Surprisingly, that image didn't turn my stomach as much as the bacon did.

I removed the Imperturbable Charm on the doorway. Sure enough, within a minute Albus was on his feet, in the kitchen, and mumbling something about grabbing some toast before running to work.

"No, Albus. You're taking the day off."

He groaned and sank into a chair.

"That's why."

He groaned again.

"Would a scone and some bacon make you feel better?"

Albus perked up. "Do you have clotted cream?"

"I wouldn't be me if I didn't have clotted cream, Albus. What's teatime without it?"

"Or breakfast, apparently."

"Touché."

He looked around. "You did all this for me?"

"And for me. I like being frozen and hungry even less than you do."

"Which is usually why I light the fires."

"Not today. Today is a day for you to sleep, rest, and enjoy my company. I've already arranged it with Nicolas."

"If today is a me-day, is it also a you-day?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you going to take the day off work, too?"

"My work can easily be accomplished when you're asleep."

Albus looked confused. "But I'm already awake."

"What, you're not going to take advantage of the opportunity to nap?"

He laughed and crunched on a bit of bacon as the kettle whistled and I jumped up to get it. I passed him the scones and the cream, and the boiling-hot tea. I dumped sugar into mine, and cream into Albus'.

"After all this food, we're going to be either fully sated or ready to face a day that won't put up a fight," Albus said.

"My bet's on the second."

"Mine too. You made the food, and you would know best."

"Well, technically the pig made the bacon…"

Albus groaned again. "Not this again about the blood. I got it out of my robes."

"Still. No more bacon for me, I think."

"Blood doesn't even _smell_ like bacon."

"No, but apparently it's meat to my stomach, and meat isn't welcome."

"Lots of potatoes for us, then?"

"There's this new invention called canning that preserves foods in tin packages…"

"Yes, Mr Flamel showed me some. It didn't taste great." He scowled. "Fruit cocktail."

"You hate _fresh_ fruit cocktail."

"So?"

"How do know that your rule works for everything canned?"

"I don't."

I sat back in my chair and took a bite of scone. I'd won that argument, and both Albus and I knew it.

We sat in silence for a while. The pale winter sun rose a little further, my scones disappeared, and the clotted cream slowly coated Albus' upper lip and moustache.

_The sole exception to Albus being a neat eater, clotted cream. Hmmm… I wonder… how good is it secondhand?_

Albus asked, "Have you learned anything new about the runes?"

I shook my head. "No. We knew they were a double-edged sword, and they remain a double-edged sword."

"The question is, who got cut in half?"

"I'm more worried that they might affect me."

Albus shrugged. "You don't have to wear it, John."

"No, but I don't have one of my own, and it would be difficult for me to make one or have one made."

"Difficult? Didn't we learn a spell for jewelry-making in 6th year?"

"We did, but I wanted something more… well… _finished_ than that, I think. And if I had it made by a public vendor, Magical or Muggle, I run the risk of being exposed."

"You could just wear the family ring."

"I could… but it would be breaking tradition, and it seems like something that is easier perpetuated than not."

Albus shook his head. "Good Lord, you can be stubborn sometimes, John."

I gave him a halfhearted glare.

"Why give me that look? You know I speak the truth."

I sighed. "Point."

He gulped his tea and poured himself another cup, with cream and a hint of sugar.

A thought came to me. "In Morocco, they say that the first cup of tea is bitter as life, the second is as strong as love, and the third as gentle as death."

Albus gave me an odd look. "Cheery."

I smiled. He didn't get it. "You're on your second cup," I finished mine and poured another with my typical massive amounts of sugar, "And so am I."

His grin and his kiss told me he got it that time.

_Later…_

Albus and I worked the kinks out of our muscles together, mine from lack of use and his from overuse. Clotted cream did not lose any appreciable goodness from being on someone's lip. Granted, it wasn't there very long.

My beef and vegetable soup, now adapted to be meatless, was cooking in the oven with a loaf of bread beside it.

"Did you remember the bay leaf?"

"Of course, Albus."

"Did you add barley again? I liked that last time."

"Yes, I did. I put in a turnip and some extra garlic, too."

"Hmmm." Albus breathed in the smell luxuriously. "I think I'll like that."

I smiled. "Good."

He and I sat down at the table again, the rune books open before us.

"How is this not work, Albus?"

"Does it bring us any money?"

"No, but neither does your working for Nicolas."

He stopped to breathe and think before speaking again. His forehead crinkled, his lips pressed into a thin line, and the wrinkles around his eyes threatened to swallow them.

_Uh oh. I know that look, and it's far from pleasant for me. Albus the logician, merciless and cutting with few cares, has come out. I thought I had banished him?_

"Does it save us energy in the long run? A stitch in time saves nine, and all that?"

"Under that definition," the look on Albus' face worried me, more than his words, "Most probably this is work."

"The question is, then," his eyes looked up from the pages, "would it be more effort to drag me away or for you to give up and sit by me and at least pretend to study?"

His eyes were soft and gentle, and in that instant I knew. He was faking.

_He knew that ploy would work. I would almost always choose being with him, doing something unpleasant, than being apart in a heavenly place._

I sat down. "Don't throw me for a heart attack, old friend."

He laughed. "I'm not the one to be afraid of."

"Oh? Then who do I have to blame the next time _someone_ – cough – scares me like that?"

"Your own heart, and everything else that's put strain on it over the years. Remember that prank war between Edward and –" Albus gulped. " – Aberforth that once got everyone's homework in Gryffindor tower covered in ink that wouldn't come off?"

I grinned. "That hurt you worse than me, old friend. I hadn't done my homework yet, for once, while you'd done the whole week's in advance."

"Point. You win again." He scowled.

I laughed. "What would I do without you?"

"When you first asked me that, I said, and I quote, 'A lot more work.' But now…" He leaned toward me with twinkling eyes, "I might answer a little differently."

"Oh? How would you answer now?"

"Now I might say 'go insane.' Or maybe even 'die.' But, most of all, you would probably 'miss me.'"

Despite myself, I had to laugh.

The study didn't seem quite so bad now.

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

They danced in my head, like the proverbial sugarplums, only far more nasty.

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

Well, not nasty, really, but they did speak of power. Power can be used well or badly; it can heal or destroy; it can build or it can knock down. Like the verse in Ecclesiastes: "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven."

_And everything __turns, turns, turns – the world turns, and we don't even notice._

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

"What are you thinking, John?"

I looked up from my page. "Hmm?"

"You've been reading the same page for about ten minutes or so, and you're humming to yourself."

"I am? Sorry, I didn't even notice."

"No worries. Your singing voice is always a treat."

I laughed. "With one exception."

"When you're drunk."

"You've got it."

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

"A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted…"

"What's that from, John?"

"The book of Ecclesiastes, chapter three." I sighed. "Perhaps…"

A thought glimmered, just out of reach.

_Maybe…_

"Perhaps?"

"It's silly."

"So?"

I sighed. "Maybe this describes a story more than anything else." I pulled the ring off my finger and handed it to Albus. "Reading it left to right…"

"All right, I'll play along." Albus grasped the ring and held it up to the pale winter sunlight. "This man's youth was Uruz – vital, powerful, sure of himself and his place in the world. His adulthood was Thurisaz – a shaking of everything he knew, causing him to fight back in the only way he knew how."

I took up the narrative. "Ansuz was his middle age – wise, calm, insightful, like Odin in the Norse myths after he gave Mimir his eye. In his old age, he truly felt he had achieved something, glory, wealth, joy, but it wasn't enough, it was never enough, so he was always driven for more. Thus the tilted, crazed Wunjo."

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

_Four letters, so much meaning packed into a tiny package._

I closed my rune textbook. "I can't think of a better explanation. It is a personal ring, after all." I sank lower into my chair. "How more personal do you get than your life story, written on a bit of jewelry for all the world to see?"

"Wizards live so much longer than Muggles." Albus got up and poured himself another cup of tea. "He may well have been a hundred years old when his father or grandfather died and the family leadership passed to him."

"And with his son, his only son, his beloved son, Murdoch, a squib…"

"Lord MacArthur was stuck. He might have felt old before his time, that he had failed in his most precious mission, to continue the Wizarding line."

I closed my eyes.

_There are few feelings like seeing a puzzle crack open. Alexander untied the Gordian knot, Theseus got out of the Minotaur's den, __Oedipus survived the Sphinx, Scheherazade escaped a crazed Caliph… And now Albus and I have puzzled this out._

"John?"

"Yes?" I opened my eyes.

"You need one of these."

"I would only need one letter, but it doesn't exist."

"Oh?"

"The one that shows just how much I love you."

He grinned. "Maybe there's a sign for how much I love you…"

"Yes?"

"Infinity."

I groaned. "You've been working calculations with Nicolas for too long, my friend."

"But I'm right, though."

"You're almost always right."

"And when I'm wrong, you're right."

"Interesting, how that always works out."

"I'm just glad it does."

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

_Uruz, thurisaz, ansuz, wunjo._

-------------------------------

_3 March 1899_

-------------------------------

"I'm home!" Albus called.

I almost didn't hear him; the washroom's acoustics were terrible.

"In here, Albus."

I heard him as he stepped into the washroom and, with a scuff of the feet, stopped dead. "Why are you soaking wet, John?"

"Freak storm." I jerked my head, still dripping, in an attempt to rid my ears of water. "I went out for a walk and got pelted with sleet. I came in here to warm up and dry off. The first part just took a charm, but it managed to interfere with the second."

"Ah."

I rubbed at my hair to try to dry it. It didn't work; the water just ran down the sides of my face into my beard. Turning to face Albus, I said, "Aren't you home early?"

"Er, yes. About that…"

_Something's off, and I can't tell what it is because __my glasses are in the other room and everything is fuzzy._

"What happened, Albus?"

"You mean you can't see – right, no glasses. Er." He waved his wand, or a wand-shaped blob in my direction. The water evaporated instantly. "At least now you're not dripping."

"Alright, old friend, now I'm worried."

"You'll start laughing at me as soon as you see, I promise."

"I'm not sure whether to be reassured or frightened by that…"

I could see well enough to get through the door and to my glasses. I put them on and turned to see Albus, and, sure enough, I cracked up laughing.

His beautiful straight auburn hair had turned blond and curly. So had his beard and moustache, and even his eyebrows. His eyes were wide, as if watching a flame in order to avoid being singed.

"Did something blow up in your face in the laboratory again?"

"Yes," he muttered grumpily. "Dragon's blood boiling with ashwinder eggs and lacewing larvae does not make a good shampoo, even as an unintentional one. We were trying to make a longer-lasting Polyjuice, and Nicolas accidentally knocked a vial of sulfur into my cauldron."

"That explains the yellow," I sniffed, "and the unidentifiable smell. And not even Nicolas could fix it?"

Albus rolled his eyes. "Nicolas wants to see how long it will last."

"He would." I smiled and touched one of the curls on Albus' cheek. "I think I just might get used to waking up next to this rather than the auburn I'm used to."

"Auburn." He laughed. "Sounds like I set my hair on fire, which, if you remember right, I have not done."

I scowled. "If you're talking about that cauldron explosion in fifth year…"

"What else?"

"… you know that wasn't my fault."

"Oh? Did someone _else_ put magnesium dangerously close to your flame? Which caught on fire and blew sky-high?"

I sighed. "I'm not going to be able to win this one, am I?"

"No." Albus seemed inordinately happy for someone who had managed to turn his hair blond.

"I should resign myself to that."

"Most certainly."

I walked over to my favorite of the plush purple chairs in the sitting room and sank into it. The cold had aggravated the ache in my knees and fingers. Albus seemed to know what I was thinking, and followed me, taking one of my hands in his and manipulating the joints.

_Ow. You don't realize how much wear and tear your joints get until they start to hurt. I think my use of the electricity didn't help, but I've been stiff for a while. At least there is some kind of relief here._

I sighed, and looked into his captivating blue eyes, his handsome face. "These curls make for an interesting change."

"Yes."

"No one in your family has ever been blond?"

"No, not that I can remember. Ari's hair is more of a strawberry," here he grimaced, "closer to my _former_ color than to my _current_ color."

I couldn't help but smile.

The hand that wasn't easing the stress on my knuckles reached to brush some of my hair out of my eyes. "You need a haircut," he said, smiling. "Your hair has always been this color?"

"Mud brown?" I snorted. "Yes."

"Mud? No. Somewhere between bistre and raw umber on Henry's palette."

"Did you ask him?"

"Oh course. Our painting is divine, and I wanted to know what made it that way."

"Henry did, of course." I rubbed at my beard. "Even if I have more grey hairs than you."

"A lot of things can cause grey hair."

"I was thinking that if I wasn't careful I would turn into a monochromatic painting. Grey eyes, grey hair, greying skin, grey clothes…"

Albus frowned. "That's odd to think of."

"My first impression was 'funny', not odd."

"I've always said your sense of humor itself was odd."

"But you love me anyway."

_Cures for joint pain: hot baths, massages, aspirin, and kissing. That last part may just be me, though._


End file.
